


The Bond

by vindobonensis



Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Character Death, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 24,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vindobonensis/pseuds/vindobonensis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rudolf shares a bond with Death - a bond that is deeper than either of them anticipated. When he also shares a vision with his friend, the course of history is changed. </p><p>M/M, AU, no Mary Vetsera, based on the 2013 Vienna production</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January 30th 1889, 11:00 pm, Mayerling

The end had come. Death could see it as soon as he materialized in the shadows of the dark, oak panelled master bedroom of the crown prince’s hunting lodge.

With soft steps he approached the hunched figure on the bed. The prince was sitting quietly, staring at the beautifully ornamented gun lying in his lap. Death let his eyes trail over the long, thin cuts criss-crossing the arms of the young Habsburg. Rudolf’s shirt was stained crimson, his dagger on the pillow beside him.

He slowly placed a cold, heavy hand on the prince’s shoulder. Rudolf sighed and looked up at him with tired eyes.

“Will you take me?” he asked, hope in his voice.

Death knew the sound of someone who was weary of the world, who had borne too much, who was _finally_ ready. He felt the cosmic forces of time and fate shift, align and seal this human’s destiny – he had fulfilled his role in the interminable play of world history and now it was time for him to propel the plot forwards by making his exit.

“Yes. Your time has come,” he answered in a low, soothing voice, raising his hand from Rudolf’s shoulder to softly caress his cheek. The prince leaned into the icy touch and smiled sadly.

Dark satisfaction glowed in Death’s chest. Over the millennia, many humans had readily thrown themselves into his arms, but never had he been more elated at welcoming one of them. He had to admit to himself that he had grown somewhat … fond of the prince since he had first met him, a five-year old scared in the dark, and had been greeted with such blind trust. He had to admit that he had enjoyed their subsequent encounters, which had progressively become more … intense.

Death gently cupped the prince’s cheek with one hand and guided his fingers to the gun with the other. The prince’s breath hitched as the cold barrel came to rest against his temple and Death leaned forward, sliding into his lap and pushing him back onto the bed.

He was so submissive, so willing. _My prince_.

The fight had left him, even the anger had. He was nothing like his mother just now and Death desired him all the more for it.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the mortal beneath him.

Rudolf’s fingers tightened around the trigger. The ice cold, perfect features of his fried were close, so close. Death traced a finger along his jawline and Rudolf sensed his grim determination. He shivered, almost painfully aware that Death’s lips were only fractions of an inch from his, so close that he could feel the lack of breath. He closed his eyes, ready to embrace his fate.

A gunshot.

A body.

A chambermaid’s scream.

A messenger flying towards the palace.

The Emperor, crying.                         His mother in black, kneeling at his grave.               His cousin being named the new heir.        His mother dead – stabbed by an anarchist.                  Austrian soldiers in Serbia.             His cousin               A shot.                A quarrel.             War.             Trenches.           Cannons.            Gas.          Millions of lives lost.         His father dead.       Capitulation.       The Empire breaking.     People poor and hungry and displaced.     Parties forming.   An incompetent government.   Faschism. Hate. Rising. Growing stronger. The swastika flying over Berlin. An army in Vienna. A dictator. Humans fleeing. Hiding. Caught. Suffering. Tortured. Murdered. Millions. Millions. The American flag. The red flags of Communism. An explosion that shook the very core of the earth.

Rudolf’s eyes flew open. “NO!” he yelled.

Death drew back, startled, and watched as the prince struggled back into a sitting position and threw his head into his hands, shaking silently.

For a few moments, silence reigned the room as Death stood and watched the crown prince’s despair. He was used to people’s pleas and fear when he came to them, used to the pathetic attempts at escaping his grasp, the whimpering and the whining. But he hadn’t expected it of Rudolf. Of his prince. Of one who had begged him to take him so often, who had hungrily surrendered himself to his touch – and now, that his time had finally come …

“Is it really going to happen like this?” A faint voice from the bed asked, interrupting Death’s reflections.

“What?” Death shot the young man a startled glance.

“What I saw just now. If I die, is it all really going to come true?” Rudolf said, a little more loudly, raising his head from his hands and looking at his friend.

If there had been any necessity for him to breathe, Death might have gasped at the prince’s question. As it was, all he did in response was stare at him with unprecedented intensity.

He could not have. Humans did not know. They could not see. Death alone was omniscient – he alone knew how history would proceed, how the world changed with the millennia, what significance a person’s life and their death had for the unravelling future. True, he had been thinking about all the events that Rudolf’s suicide would trigger in the rest of this century and the first half of the next, but the prince … he just could not have.

“What did you see?” he asked testily.

Rudolf lowered his head again and spoke quietly “The grief. The assassination. The wars. The slaughter. The torture. And the bomb.”

But then again, Death reflected, he had come closer to Rudolf than any human before him, even his mother. All those years ago, he had thought little of approaching Elisabeth’s son out of anger at being rejected once more and in the grim determination to take the closest thing to the Empress that he could have. He hadn’t foreseen that his relationship to the young Habsburg would evolve the way it did - but considering all the things they had done, all the things they had … shared, he felt he shouldn’t be surprised that a bond had formed between them that allowed Rudolf to come closer to _him_ as well. And he couldn’t lie to him.

“Yes,” he answered “You saw what will happen when you die today.”

Rudolf was still shaking slightly and gave a strangled sob at hearing his fears confirmed. Death approached him once more, resting his hand on the prince’s shoulder.

Rudolf’s head jerked up.

“I can’t” he croaked.

Death looked at him questioningly.

“I can’t go with you knowing that … that I’m responsible. I can’t spend eternity knowing that it was all my fault …” he broke off, voice failing him.

Anger rose in Death’s breast. For years Rudolf had begged him to take him and he had always refused, biding his time. _That_ should have taught the prince that it was not his choice when Death would come for him.

It was not his concern that he did not want to come now – he took those who belonged to him, young or old, without a second thought. He was Death - omniscient, omnipotent, eternal!

“Your time has come, I cannot change that,” he said, almost coldly, and placed his hand under the prince’s chin, yanking head upwards and lowering his lips towards him.

And froze.

For the first time, he saw an expression on Rudolf’s face that he had seen on so many others but had never expected to behold on his prince.

Fear.

With a frustrated growl he let go of the mortal and drew back, anger swelling once more. Only this time it was only halfway directed at the prince. It was not possible! He was Death! He did not care for humans - his role was to collect their souls at the right time to guarantee the pre-determined course of history. And for Rudolf this time was NOW!

Shaking off his momentary sentimentality, Death turned back towards the bed.

However, when he came face to face with Rudolf, looking up at him through a veil of silent tears and despair, he halted and realized that the impossible had become possible.

He cared for Rudolf – more than he did for his mother. If it was the Empress resisting him, if it was her struggling against his kiss, he felt, he could take her – all the more joyfully because of her protests. But her son was a different matter.

“Fine,” he hissed, rage simmering in his voice. “If it is your wish to attempt to change the course of fate…”

Death paused and thought for a moment. Then he wrapped a hand around Rudolf’s neck and effortlessly lifted him off the bed, slamming him into the nearest wall. The prince’s head collided with the cold stonework with a crack and all the wind was knocked out of him. Death watched for a moment as Rudolf realized what had happened. He looked at Death confusedly. Never before had he treated him this roughly.

For a moment, Death took perverse pleasure in seeing the prince like this – confused, but still not fighting, not doubting or questioning. Never before had he realized how fully the prince had surrendered himself to him – how he was his already, body and soul. His choice had been made, no matter how foolish it may be.

“… then so be it,” he whispered.

Rudolf fell to the floor, coughing. His head hurt and so did his throat. The air burnt his lungs.

His friend had gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've seen the concept of Rudolf using self-harm to "call" Death in other stories and found it really gripping since it fits brilliantly into their twisted relationship. Just wanted to give it a shot. I'm always extremely grateful for notes and comments or suggestions for improvement - especially since this is my first-ever foray into fanfiction. :)


	2. January 31st 1889, 4:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna

Black night still lay over Vienna. There were few houses in which candles had been lit already in anticipation of the coming day. One of the windows behind which fires had been kindled, beds made and the day’s work begun looked out over Hero’s Square, in the heart of Vienna – it belonged to the Hofburg itself.

The Emperor clung to a habit of rising early and working for several hours before breakfast already. He was not a man who tolerated slackness in himself or anyone else. A fire crackled in the grate of Franz Joseph’s private apartments and he was already seated in the heavy  straight-backed chair behind his desk, studying his recent correspondence. So immersed was he in his work that he did not notice the presence of a figure in the shadows behind him. That is, until a resonant voice filled the room.

“It is time.”

The Emperor spun around, staring into the shadows. The servants had strict orders not to interrupt him during his morning routine!

“Who’s there?” he demanded, annoyed.

“It is time,” the voice repeated calmly and the Emperor could not stop a shiver running down his spine. There was something … unreal about this.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” he demanded.

There was no response, but the Emperor spotted a slight movement in the shadows. The outline of a man appeared, seemingly materializing out of nothingness. Then there was the click of a heel on the polished floor and the swish of a cloak - the figure stepped into the light and became real.

Franz Joseph was faced with a tall man clad entirely in black, with pale, almost translucent skin and white-blonde hair that reached down to his shoulders. His lips were twisted into a frightening smile.

“Who are you?” the Emperor asked once more, noting with annoyance that his voice sounded slightly shaky. “How did you gain access to my apartments?”

“I come and go where I please,” the figure replied enigmatically. “And you know who I am.”

The Emperor swallowed. A cold dread settled in the back of his stomach, but he was not about to let his fear show – he was, after all, a soldier.

“I must ask you to leave at once. I do not know who you are and I cannot imagine who let you in.”

The black figure only chuckled darkly and approached him until they were standing mere feet apart. The Emperor could sense the aura of power surrounding the other man and in spite of himself, he retreated until he ungracefully bumped into his desk.

“What do you want?” he choked out.

The figure’s smile morphed into a terrible grin. “I think you know that. It is time.”

Before Franz Joseph had the chance to respond, the stranger’s hand shot forward, aiming at his chest. The Emperor tried to brace himself for a punch.

But it never came.

Confused, he looked down - and saw with horror that the other man’s – the _being’s_ – hand had effortlessly penetrated his chest. There was no blood, no wound – the creature’s arm seemed to have melted into his own flesh.

He looked back up at the dark figure, his mouth agape in terror.

\---

The servants heard a scream of pain and the sound of a crash and after a moment of confused silence, they stormed towards the Emperor’s apartments. They found their master lying on the floor -he had had collapsed, knocking over his desk, and was now desperately clutching at his chest.


	3. January 31st 1889, 8:30 am, Mayerling

Dawn had crept up on Mayerling. The pale morning light illuminated the rooms and hallways of the old hunting lodge.

In the master bedroom, Rudolf sat in the window seat, looking out over the grounds. The mists were clearing slowly – it was going to be a beautiful day. A day he should not have lived to see, he knew.

The prince leaned his forehead against the cold glass and absent-mindedly traced the bruises that had formed around his neck. He tried to ban the previous night’s memories form his thoughts, but they treacherously crept into his mind when he let it wander even for a second.

His eyes refocused and instead of the gardens, he now saw his own reflection in the window glass.

Battered. Very.

But not broken. Yet.

There were dark rings under his eyes and purple fingerprints on his neck. The innumerable cuts on his arms were slowly beginning to scab over. Rudolf grimly thought of the hated uniform which he would have to don again on his return to Vienna. At least it served to conceal what lay beneath.

Footsteps on the stairs. A hurried knock on his door.

The prince did not respond – he felt he had not quite arrived back in reality after last night’s events aand he could not bear to see anyone while in this frame of mind.

The knocking continued, however. After several more minutes, when it became clear that whoever wanted to see him was not leaving without a response, Rudolf sighed and reluctantly slid out of the window seat. He walked to his closet, shrugged on his uniform jacket, buttoned it to the top and gave permission to enter.

A servant unceremoniously stumbled into the room, looking harassed and pale.

“A messenger!” he blurted, before being given permission to speak. “A messenger from Vienna has arrived – it is about your father, my lord!”


	4. January 31st 1889, 11:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna

The doors of the imperial apartments flew open and two grave-looking servants admitted the crown prince.

Rudolf was dishevelled, out of breath and covered in dust from the road. For once, though, none of the nobles, politicians and servants assembled in the room looked at his appearance with disapproval – rather the contrary. A prince who had been woken in the early hours of the day by a messenger informing him that his father was dying and told to ride to Vienna as fast as his horse would carry him if he wanted to say his goodbyes, ought to look like this, they felt.

Rudolf hesitated at the door for a moment before making his way, past the various courtiers, over to his father’s bed. Franz Joseph was surrounded by a multitude of nurses and doctors. He was pale and his breath came in shallow gasps, his lips were tinged a dark shade of blue and perspiration stood on his forehead. There was no doubt he would not last long.

Rudolf had never seen the Emperor look so small.

“Father?” he asked, kneeling down by the bed. “Can you hear me?”

No answer came.

“Your majesty,” one of the doctors said in a hushed voice “the Emperor has been unconscious for an hour. Before that he was hallucinating. We doubt he will regain his senses.”

The Archduchess Sophie, standing at the head of her son’s bed with a handkerchief pressed to her eyes, gave a quiet sob.

“He hallucinated?” Rudolf asked the doctor, startled. His mind could not grasp the concept of his father seeing something that was not real, even in illness. His father! The most practical, down-to-earth person he knew, who had chastised him so often for being a dreamer out of touch with the facts of life.

“Yes, your majesty. He thought there was someone here – a man. He talked as if to him repeatedly, yelled at him, even. A man in black, he said.”

Rudolf’s breath caught in his throat and his head flew around, looking for the familiar face among the many people in the room. There were his sister Valerie and her fiancé, his grandmother and other, more distant members of the royal family, several representatives of the high nobility, some parliamentarians and a few servants, standing quietly in a corner.

But _he_ was not here.

Exhaling slowly and ignoring the doctor’s sceptic look, Rudolf turned back to his father’s bed. And came face to face with his friend.

Death had appeared without a sound and now stood on the other side of the Emperor’s bed, only a foot away from the Archduchess Sophie. She did not notice him. No one did.

Death looked down at Rudolf, his expression unreadable. Taking a step closer to the Emperor, he lowered his hand and passed it gently over the man’s face and Rudolf watched, stunned, as his father gave one final sigh before lying still.

Still not grasping what had happened, the crown prince raised his eyes to his friend, his world spinning at a hundred times its usual rate.

Death looked back calmly and reached up to trace a finger along Rudolf’s jawline. “I will come when you call me,” he said in a low voice.

Then shouts filled the room. Rudolf flinched and blinked and in a heartbeat his friend was gone. He turned around, shaking, to face the room full of people, yelling at the top of their voices: “The Emperor is dead, long live the Emperor.”


	5. January 31st 1889, 10:00 pm, Hofburg, Vienna

Rudolf staggered into the empty room. Peace at last.

Hours had passed since his father’s death and he hadn’t been left alone for a single minute – it was as if the whole world was trying to tear him apart, bombarding him with questions and asking for orders. The wording of the obituary. The time of the burial. The invitation for the wake. The music for the funeral. The next meeting of the advisory board. First preparations for the coronation. _His_ coronation!

At one point his grandmother had taken over control of all formalities, thank God.

The door clicked shut behind him and the prince turned the key with shaking fingers before giving an exhausted sigh and letting himself slide to the floor against the blessedly cool wood.

He balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his eyes. If only he could vanish into nothingness like his friend and escape the whirlpool of madness that seemed to have swallowed him.

Removing his hands from his eyes, he slowly unbuttoned unbuttoning his blue and gold military jacket and reached into the inner pocked, letting his fingers close around the hilt of a slim, graceful dagger. Another old friend.

The prince shrugged off his jacket and undid his cufflinks. Rolling back the sleeves of his shirt, he revealed the hastily wrapped bandages of that morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had tied up his wounds, thrown on his clothes and followed the groom to the stables at a run.

A cold calm engulfed him as he unwrapped his arms, exposing the old scars and fresh wounds, which had only half scabbed over since the previous day. Sighing quietly, he traced the point of the dagger across his forearm along familiar patterns. Then he drew blood.

A sharp intake of breath, a stinging pain and then – bliss. Rudolf’s head fell back against the hard wood of the door. The dagger clattered onto the floor as blood began to ooze out of the fresh cuts. It would not take long now.

A horse galloped by in the courtyard below. Servants talked in the corridor in hushed voices. Somewhere far off, faint music sounded.

And then there were cool fingers on his arm, tracing his wounds.

“You should know by now that there are easier ways of calling me, my prince.” Death said softly.

“Mmmh.” Rudolf hummed in response and watched with fascination as his friend turned over his arm in his icy grasp, clearly enjoying the sight of the pale scars running across the prince’s flesh, despite his words.

“Why did you take my father?” he asked after a while. “Was it his time?”

“No,” Death answered, looking at Rudolf with piercing eyes. “It wasn’t.”

“Then why …?”

“You want to change the future, to avert what you saw. This is the only way.”

Rudolf looked at him confusedly and Death sighed, extending his explanation.

“As crown prince you are powerless - your father has curbed your political activities so far and would have continued to do so. As Emperor, you have the power to alter the course of history.”

The prince stared at his friend wide-eyed as comprehension mercilessly washed over him. It was because of him that his father had died! A tremor passed through Rudolf’s body and he felt his blood was not nearly flowing fast enough.

But his friend was right. He had seen his father in his vision - had seen the continuation of outdated policies, his father’s ever more autocratic attempts at repressing nationalist currents in his empire. And he had seen the declaration of war after the assassination. And what followed.

Fighting back the sickness that had risen in his throat, he looked at his friend in panic. “But I … I can’t, I don’t know how …”

Death grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him roughly. “You have to take charge. You must not let go of your power. It is in you to shape the things to come, but you must stay firm. You know what to do already – you have plans for reforms and changes. Now it remains to realize them.”

Calmed somewhat by his friend’s words and his firm touch, Rudolf breathed deeply and felt the weight of his responsibility settle on him. He had seen the future. He knew what was coming. And he had to prevent it.

Once more he looked at his friend, growing determination in his eyes.

A wicked grin spread over Death’s face. For a moment he could see Elisabeth’s spirit in her son.

“Will you help me?” the prince asked in a still somewhat shaky voice.

Death chuckled darkly and the hand which had so far rested on his shoulder trailed along his collarbone and down his neck.

“Oh my prince – I told you long ago: I will be here whenever you need me.”


	6. February 4th 1889, 8:15 pm, Hofburg, Vienna

“Your majesty?” A servant had noiselessly entered the study.

“Yes?” Rudolf asked in a tired voice, not looking up from the records over which he had been poring for the past few hours.

“Your mother has arrived.”

Rudolf’s heart skipped a beat.

The Empress had been in Madeira when her husband had passed away. A messenger had taken two days to reach her and now, another forty eight hours later, Elisabeth had arrived at the court in mourning.

“Thank you.” Rudolf said curtly, trying to remain neutral. A cold hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Tell her, I shall see her at the funeral tomorrow.”

The servant bowed low and left.

Death stepped around the desk and stood facing Rudolf. The prince leant back in his chair.

“What is your judgement concerning the accounts?” his friend asked, glancing down at the papers on the desk, drawing his thoughts away from the impending meeting with his mother.

The prince’s shoulders slumped and he let out a groan. “Not good,” he answered, “the expenses of the court are unbelievable! Half the money that is spent on balls and dinners in Schönbrunn alone would be enough to double the capacities of all the hospitals in Vienna!”

Death almost smiled at his prince’s irritation. After all he had seen he was still so innocent in some ways.

“Then you shall have to implement changes. I saw this afternoon that you are quite capable of taking charge of the affairs of the palace.”

Rudolf looked up, slightly surprised. “You were there?”

That afternoon he had confronted the Archduchess Sophie. She had taken control of the running of the palace almost immediately after her son’s death, finally doing openly what she had been doing for years in the guise of a concerned mother and mother-in-law. Rudolf had overheard her ordering another fifty servants to be hired for the wake to ensure individual attendance on every head of state and diplomat coming to Vienna to pay their respects to the old Emperor. Having spent his morning immersed in the disastrous financial affairs of the monarchy, Rudolf had bristled at hearing her order, which to him seemed expensive and pointless.

It had taken him a fair deal of courage to stand up to the woman who had made his childhood a living hell and whom he had always cast in the role of every ancient tyrant during his classics lessons. But he would never forget the look on his grandmother’s face when he stepped into the hallway, countermanded her order and informed her that from now on, he himself would take over all affairs of the palace and that she was no longer required to burden herself with them. As the Emperor’s grandmother, it was her place to mourn her son and take up a quaint occupation like embroidery or knitting.

“I am always there, my prince,” Death said amusedly.

Rudolf smiled. Then his expression darkened.

“My mother is here,” he said glumly. Of all people in his life, Elisabeth held the greatest power over him. She had always been a blazing icon in his mind and his adoration for her had been one of his first links to his friend.

Now he dreaded their meeting.

“You shall be triumphant in that as well.” Death said, running a cold hand through the prince’s hair.

Rudolf sighed in pleasure at the close, cold touch.

They had both been abandoned and scorned by Elisabeth, he knew, and they had found comfort in each other. It was now time to abandon her. He only feared that one of them would falter.


	7. February 5th 1889, 10 am, Kapuzinergruft, Vienna

Very fittingly, dark clouds hung low in the sky over Vienna and shed a thin, icy drizzle on the mourners assembled in front of the church. The people of Vienna and the crown countries, ambassadors, ministers, heads of state – all had come to pay their respects.

It was easier for him to meet her this way – under the gaze of the multitude clad in black. There was no room for private intimacies, no personal conversations.

The first time he saw her was when she alighted from her carriage. She looked magnificent in her black satin dress and dark mourning jewellery – the epitome of a grieving Empress. He could see that her skin was slightly tanned from her sojourn in the south, even though her dark veil hid most of her face.

Wordlessly, she joined him at the front of the funeral train, aligning herself with the rest of the imperial family to follow the Emperor’s coffin to his last resting place in the crypt. She looked composed, but Rudolf could tell his mother was distracted. Her eyes wandered more than once, roaming the crowd, looking for something, for someone. And he knew exactly for who.

Heavy organ music sounded out from the church and the train began to move.

\-----

The bells knelled as they descended into the crypt and Rudolf felt that the sense of an era fading was almost tangible.

The final resting place of the Habsburgs was small, built by medieval ancestors who had not foreseen the longevity of their line. Only the priest, Rudolf, his mother and grandmother, as well as a few of the highest ministers and aristocrats were admitted to witness the sealing of the tomb.

It was here, as two stonemasons heaved a heavy marble plate bearing a Latin inscription onto the old Emperor’s tomb that Death chose to make his appearance.

Rudolf shivered as he felt a cold hand come to rest on the small of his back.

“It has come to this, then,” his friend’s familiar voice said, glowering with satisfaction.

His mother, standing to his left, stiffened. Like Rudolf, she didn’t react in any other way.

The priest was chanting in Latin. None of the other mourners could sense the presence of Death himself in their midst.

“As always, time has won – and time is on my side,” he whispered “I will come to you later tonight – prepare.”

Rudolf glanced over at his mother and saw a grim smile tug at her lips. When she felt her son's eyes rest on her, she once more assumed a blank expression and joined in the prayers led by the priest. She did no know that her son had heard what she had heard, could see what she saw, was closer to the one who had spoken than she was. Not even remotely did she consider that Death’s last sentence had been addressed to Rudolf as well.


	8. February 5th 1889, 7 pm, Hofburg, Vienna

Rudolf paced his father’s – no _his!_ – study.

The wake had gone well. He had made conversation with most of the politicians present and had given them to understand that there would be a change in the policy of the Empire after his impending coronation.

Few of the foreign nobles and ministers present had genuinely mourned his father’s demise – as much as the Emperor had satisfied the wish for complacent stagnation among the majority of the Austrian ruling class, his ostentatious clinging to tradition and unwillingness to introduce any sort of change had annoyed many of the Empire’s neighbours.

His father’s ministers had eyed Rudolf with suspicion from the beginning. They were the ones who had helped staunch his political ambitions during his father’s lifetime – and they had been very huffed at being told directly that Rudolf preferred to take his first steps in international diplomacy without their help, thank you very much.

It was now, however, in the privacy of the imperial apartments, that he faced his hardest task so far. He had already devised a plan to minimize the expenses of the court. The money would be better spent on public and social infrastructure throughout the Empire. And now the time had come to inform his mother, who caused a considerable part of the costs he had pored over during the past few days, that times had changed and she would have to too.

The door swung open and a servant announced Elisabeth’s arrival.

Rudolf stopped pacing, breathed deeply and straightened his uniform. This was necessary, he reminded himself.

And then his mother swept into the room. She had discarded the heavy jewellery and the veil she had worn at the church and the wake, but the black satin dress billowed around her legs and hugged her upper body magnificently.

“You wished to see me?” she asked briskly.

The impatience in Elisabeth’s voice was hard to miss. Rudolf knew that it was a different encounter to which she was looking forward that night and a faint feeling of jealousy stirred in his chest.

“Yes, mother. There are matters we need to discuss.”

“What matters?” Elisabeth demanded curtly, annoyed at being bothered with formalities.

“Expenditures, mother.” Rudolf said, faltering a little. “The court has been spending impossible sums and it is necessary to reduce these...”

Elisabeth huffed. “I don’t see what this has to do with me. I will be leaving court again with my train the day after the coronation next week.”

Something twisted in Rudolf’s chest. He had been hoping that he could ensure his mother’s support and understanding, that he would be able to confide in her. But she was letting him down, planning to leave him again – as always.

His resolve hardened.

“You will not go, mother. At least not the way you have so far. Your retinue of lady’s maids, your beauty treatments and fashion requirements – they swallow up a large part of the court’s budget and must cease to do so. The milk you require for your daily bath shall not be taken from the starving public anymore, the extortionate sums you pay for your dresses and jewels will go towards constructive goals. You –“

Elisabeth began to protest, swelling with indignation, but her son carried on calmly.

“You are no longer the Empress, if I may remind you. You are the Emperor’s mother. And as such you shall receive an adequate income, but your days of extravagance and grandeur are over.”

By now, the colour had drained from Elisabeth’s face. “You cannot –“ she started, white with anger, but Rudolf interrupted her.

“Oh but I can. I am Emperor and the responsibility for running the affairs of state – financial and otherwise – lies on me and me alone. You did your best to avoid that responsibility during my father’s reign and now you have been relieved of it but also of the comforts and privileges of the position you scorned. You may go now.”

Rudolf finished speaking and for a long moment, Elisabeth stared at him, half in disbelief and half in rage. Then she turned and ungracefully stormed from the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Rudolf let out a breath he had held since he had concluded his speech. His heart was pounding in his chest and his hands were trembling slightly. Holding onto his façade of quiet calm and dignity for a moment longer, he walked back to his desk, lowered himself into his chair and told the servants to leave.

When the last of the liveried men had stepped from the room, Rudolf wordlessly opened the top drawer of the mahogany desk and drew out his slender silver dagger.

\----

Elisabeth swept around the corner of the hall and down the long corridor in a towering rage.

How dare he?

How dare he curb her freedom now that she had finally been released from the shackles in which her husband had placed her? Did he not appreciate what she had done for him by ripping him from the fangs of his horrible grandmother? Was this the petty revenge for her refusal to speak to the Emperor on his behalf before his hasty departure to Mayerling?

Elisabeth slowed her steps.

She had been harsh that evening, she had to admit to herself. But to resume relations with her husband had been too much for Rudolf to ask. It would have seemed that his devotion to and blind trust in her knew no bounds. But now…

She stopped.

She had miscalculated, she realized – had underestimated her son’s independence and willpower. However, his affection for her, which had grown so strong despite all the years of the estrangement resulting from her constant absence, could not have disappeared over night. More than likely, it could be rekindled still by the slightest breath.

Elisabeth turned and briskly walked back towards what was now Rudolf’s private study.

It had been a strategic folly to lose her temper, but it could yet be remedied. The hold she had exercised over her husband would extend to her son, she felt. If only she approached him in the right way, she could ensure sufficient means to leave behind Vienna for good and to finally gain the freedom she had always craved.

A grim smile appeared on her face as she thought of how he whom she was going to meet later on tonight would approve of her course of action.

\----

The doors of the apartments stood slightly ajar – a careless servant must not have closed them properly. The gap offered a free view of the desk at which Rudolf was sitting.

Stopping at the door and observing her son through the crack, Elisabeth almost smiled at how pathetically small Rudolf, so young and of a lesser build than his father, looked among the Emperor’s papers and private possessions.

Rudolf sighed and tiredly ran a hand through his hair. He was looking at something that lay before him on the desk, hidden from Elisabeth’s view by a stack of parchment. After several moments, he took up the object, which she now saw to be a small ornamented dagger. The chilling scrape of metal filled the room as Rudolf drew it from its sheath.

Elisabeth frowned. What was he doing with that thing? Was he using it as a paper knife?

Her confusion grew when she observed her son shrug off his tight military jacket and roll back the sleeves of his shirt. However, it was instantly replaced by horror when Rudolf, after only a moment’s hesitation, drew the blade across his exposed forearm, leaving behind a deep trench of crimson.

Instinctively, Elisabeth’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a yell. She did not understand! What … what was happening? Why in heaven’s name had Rudolf just done that?

Elisabeth watched in a sick stupor as her son smiled and contemplated the gash in his arm, making no move to staunch the flow of blood. Her stomach twisted at the sight and she reached for the handle of the door, following a faint maternal instinct that told her to storm into the room, demand to know what was going on and treat Rudolf’s injury.

But before she could move, the unthinkable happened.

“My prince.”

The familiar deep voice sent a shiver running down Elisabeth’s spine. He had materialized out of her field of vision, but she would recognize that sound anywhere and at any time.

Had he come to take Rudolf? Had the cut run that deep? She couldn’t let him take her son – not after he had already claimed her eldest daughter!

After a moment, a familiar black form appeared in the part of the room which she could see, approaching Rudolf with long, deliberate strides, and her treacherous heartbeat quickened.

Breathing deeply, Elisabeth tried to shake off the effect the appearance of her lover had produced on her. No matter how he affected her, she would _not_ give in to him. She was independent and free and she would not let him take another one of her children in his murderous attempt to win her.

Elisabeth’s thoughts were interrupted by Rudolf. He stood up, arm still bleeding, and walked around the desk, approaching Death, unafraid, unfazed by the sudden appearance of a stranger in his apartments.

She stared on in confusion.

The prince’s face was hard and immobile as Death took his arm and ran a finger over the long gash.

Rudolf flinched and hissed, half in pain, but half in … _pleasure_?

“You went deep today.” Death said softly and brought the finger covered in crimson up to his lips.

Rudolf watched, entranced, as Death tasted his blood, and Elisabeth felt a sick feeling creep up in the back of her stomach, not only because of what she was witnessing, but also because of the words Death had spoken. Today? Rudolf had gone deep _today_? Had this happened before? Did they know each other?

“You shall have to be careful not to undo what I have done,” Death continued.

“I talked to her,” the prince said quietly.

“I know.”

“She didn’t take it well.”

A low, mirthless laugh. “I know. But that must be none of your concern, my prince.”

Rudolf nodded stiffly. Silence filled the room for a moment.

Then Rudolf looked up at Death, eyes filled with desperation, and softly breathed, “Please, …”

A twisted grin spread across Death’s features and then, suddenly, he shot forward, roughly pushing the prince back against the mahogany desk, and bent him backwards over the papers, sending stacks of parchment fluttering to the floor.

Elisabeth gasped and shook herself out of her stupor.

She had to act! _Now_ was her time! No matter that she had not understood some parts of Rudolf’s exchange with her lover – she would get to the bottom of that later. Now was the time to step in and save her son’s life! She hastily reached for the handle of the door -

And froze once more.

A low moan, not unlike those issuing from a whorehouse, filled the room.

And it was Rudolf’s.

Elisabeth watched in a sort of haze as Rudolf buckled under her lover’s familiar form. Far from trying to take her son’s soul, Death was ravaging his neck with kisses and grinding against the mortal underneath him shamelessly.

\----

The deep despair that had filled Rudolf after his disastrous conversation with his mother began to fade into a dim ache as his friend ran his hands across his body in a possessive, almost predatory manner. A hiss of pleasure escaped his lips as kisses without breath trailed down his neck and along his jaw line and he felt rather than heard Death chuckle at his response.

Drowning in sensation, he did not care that he was as easily aroused as a harlot. When icy teeth bit his neck, hard, Rudolf’s self control shattered and with any vestiges of modesty or restraint gone, he buckled against his friend’s hips and let out a moan, low and filled with need. Need to be touched, to be felt, to be free.

His friend flicked his tongue along his jugular and the sensation brought back sudden memories of the night he had discovered this particular form of bliss.

\----


	9. July 31st 1874, 10:30 pm, Hofburg, Vienna

A sweltering heat hat settled on Vienna, driving people out of the suffocating streets and into the shelter of the cool walls of their houses. The city was deserted much earlier than normal on a fine July’s night.

The windows of the prince’s apartments in the Hofburg were thrown open wide to let in the somewhat cooler night air. The prince, 15 years of age, sat on the marble floor of his chambers and watched as blood from his arm trickled onto the cold stones, forming a crimson pool.

He had sustained the cut that afternoon during his fencing lesson. His father and grandmother insisted his teachers use sharp weapons and fight in earnest – “It won’t do to coddle the boy. No one will when he’s Emperor,” had been the Archduchess Sophie’s words.

Most of the time, Rudolf managed well enough when attacked by his instructors. But today, he had to admit, he had been distracted.

A letter had arrived from his mother that morning. From Madeira. She was well enough, thank you very much. The weather was passable. No, he could not come to join her – his father and grandmother disapproved, his schooling did not allow it, he was required to be present at a military parade a week from then. And she did not know how long she would be staying anyways.

It had been of this letter that he was thinking when his instructor had taken advantage of his momentary lapse of attention and hit. The wound had been bandaged hastily by his teacher and they had returned to their training.

A report had duly been made to his father and grandmother, who had agreed that if the cut were not too deep, Rudolf should be left to deal with it alone. He would have to learn to take care of himself.

While undressing for bed, Rudolf had clumsily attempted to undo his bandages and had reopened the wound - blood had begun to flow. And at first he had tried to staunch it. With the old bandages. With his shirt and jacket.

And then he had paused.

And watched.

Fascinated by the almost lazy flow of red.

Thrilled by the felling of the cool night air on the edges of his wound.

Every nerve in his body tingled and he felt … _alive_.

After standing and watching for several moments, Rudolf felt the pain wane and the feeling of excitation wear off. The flow of blood slowed and then stopped and the familiar sense of emptiness and resignation that filled the prince during most days of his life returned.

Sighing, Rudolf turned towards the cupboard to fetch his nightgown – and froze.

His eyes had fallen on an object on his desk. Pale moonlight was reflected by the golden sheath of a small dagger he had received as a gift from his grandmother the previous Christmas. Thus far, he had ignored it and left it on his desk as a sort of martial decoration.

But now, it looked oddly … enticing.

Abandoning the thought of changing for the night, he walked over to his desk bare-chested and took hold of the small weapon. His heart thumped excitedly as his fingers closed around the cold metal hilt and drew the blade from its sheath. The soft scrape of metal accompanied his action and his breath hitched.

For a moment, Rudolf stood in the dark chamber and looked at the blade gleaming in the pale moonlight.

Then, he tentatively laid it against the bare skin of his forearm. In the suffocating heat of the summer, the cold metal felt good, calm. The soft tingling of his nerves had returned.

He paused.

This wasn’t normal.

Why would he _hurt_ himself? Was this the beginning of a bizarre form of the Wittelsbach insanity his mother feared so much? His mother …

A bitter laugh escaped his throat. What was he to his mother? What was sanity to him?

This felt _right_. He felt alive. In control for once.

Before he could pause and reflect once more, Rudolf pressed the sharp blade against his skin and drew it across his arm, parallel to his fencing wound.

He hissed in pain and dropped the dagger, sinking to his knees.

A new cut ran beside his old wound, already glistening crimson. Adrenaline flooded his body, blood rushed in his ears and for a moment, Rudolf felt blessedly relieved of the thoughts and emotions raging through his head, of the pain of his everyday life. His mind was blank and all the world converged on the sensation of the stinging pain on his forearm, the soft bubbling of blood. And then –

“My prince.”

\- the voice came. It whispered to him, disembodied, from everywhere at once.

Rudolf shivered. The voice – _his_ voice– was painfully familiar, yet so unreachable.

It had been there in his childhood, a bittersweet comfort during lonely nights. He had dreamt more than once of falling asleep in _his_ strong arms and of _his_ perfect, cold lips kissing his forehead.

Then, as he grew older, the voice had vanished for several years – the years in which he had tried so hard to fulfil his father’s expectations, in which he had striven to become the Emperor people expected him to be. In those years _his_ voice had called to him softly from within his mind during the small hours of the morning when he had been unable to sleep – and he had ignored it.

It had been six months now, since _he_ had come back into Rudolf’s life, since the evening his ambition to conform to people’s expectations had been shattered once and for all, since his father had summoned him into his office and lectured him, enraged, on all the reports on his failures – in combat, strategy, arts – and had informed him that if he was ever found to be reading Marx and Engels again, he would be sent on a two-month army drill as a reward.

That night had seen Rudolf leaning over the banister of the forth storey balcony of the Hofburg, imagining what it would be like to see the ground flying towards him at break-neck speed. When he had leaned forward far enough to feel the floor slipping under his feet, _his_ voice had echoed in the empty night, loud and clear, and had talked him back onto safe ground.

Since then, _he_ had been a constant presence in the crown prince’s life, wherever he went - whispering in his ear during military drills, in church and during state dinners. Far from being intimidated by his omnipresence, Rudolf found comfort in the thought that his friend was with him, even though he never showed his face.

But tonight was different. Tonight the voice echoed in the room at first, far away and yet so close. But then it became more bodily, more real.

“My prince, I see you call me.”

Rudolf’s head flew up and his eyes tried to focus in the darkness. _There_ – in the shadows behind his bed.

A step. The swish of a cloak.

And then _he_ stepped into the moonlight, glorious, perfect - even as Rudolf remembered him from his childhood dreams. A lean figure clad entirely in black, with almost translucent, aquiline features and a halo of shoulder-length white-blonde hair.

He must have stared at him as at a ghost, for after a while his friend chuckled and lowered himself onto the floor next to Rudolf. Eyes as deep as eternity looked from the blood and the dagger on the floor to the cuts on Rudolf’s arm and a predatory, greedy look appeared on his face.

“Do you remember who I am, little prince?” his friend asked him in a soft, almost seductive voice.

Rudolf nodded numbly and answered automatically: “You are my friend.”

A cruel, triumphant grin appeared on his friend’s features and Rudolf shivered, almost frightened.

Almost.

“You, … You’re Death, aren’t you?”

His teenage mind had finally grasped the meaning of the aura of omnipotence, omniscience, of power and eternity that surrounded his friend and that had so puzzled him as a child.

Death did not answer, but his silence was confirmation enough. He reached for Rudolf’s bleeding arm and gave the prince a probing glance, as if half-expecting him to flinch away.

Rudolf, however, stared at him in fascination. There was a certain sense of awe in him now that he had become aware of the identity of his friend, but he was not scared. He had no reason to cling to a life that so far had given him nothing but pain and loneliness. As far back as he could remember, Death, his friend, had been the only one who had taken interest in him. Who had been there. Who had cared. Against all rational thought, he trusted him - and if he had come to take him, Rudolf thought, he was prepared to go with him.

He sighed softly when Death’s cool, delicate fingers came into contact with his skin and watched, mesmerized, as they gently traced his wounds. After a while, Death raised one hand to cup Rudolf’s cheek and tilted the prince’s head upwards until he was looking straight at him. Rudolf could hardly breathe for the intensity of the moment - he hadn’t been touched this tenderly for years, since his friend’s last visit, in fact, and he revelled the caress.

\----

Elisabeth had sent him away once more.

He had gone to her on an island in the Mediterranean and had found her writing melancholy poetry on the terrace of her villa. She had scolded him, yelled at him even, and coldly told him that all she desired was independence and freedom of him and every one else.

Rage simmered in his chest as he left her to her pen and paper, vanishing into the shadows of the setting twilight. He had a twisted sort of admiration for the Empress’ stubbornness and will to live, but he still resented being rejected.

And then an image penetrated his mind. An image of a pale-skinned, blonde youth kneeling on the floor of a stately bedroom, watching blood drain from his body with a fascinated, blissful look on his face.

Death’s rage deflated and was replaced by curiosity and a dark satisfaction. Elisabeth might spurn him, but her son was calling him.

When he materialized in the room, Death was struck by the beauty of the scene that greeted his eyes. The delicate boy in the pale moonlight, the dark blood on his arm a stark contrast to his fair skin.

“My prince,” he whispered causing the boy to look up, startled.

Almost smiling at the effect he’d produced, Death approached Rudolf softly, showing him his corporeal form for the first time in years. The boy looked up at him in wonder and Death let his eyes roam over him. Fine features. Less sturdy than his father. His mother’s beauty. But not her spirit. Two cuts. One accidental. One self-inflicted.

Deep satisfaction filled him. _Mine already._

“My prince, I see you call for me.” He lowered himself onto the floor beside Rudolf. “Do you remember who I am, little prince?”

“You are my friend,” Rudolf answered instantly and Death felt something twist in his chest at the naïve trust in the prince’s pathetic answer. Foolish mortal!

“You … You’re Death, aren’t you?” the prince asked in a small voice and Death raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t answer - Rudolf was more perceptive than he would have expected. Then again, his mother had recognized him at the same age.

Wondering whether the prince would also share the Empress’ fearlessness, he made to touch the boy’s arm.

Rudolf did not flinch or draw away as Death ran his fingers over the two fresh gashes in his skin. Quite to the contrary - to Death’s surprise, the prince seemed to _enjoy_ his touch, giving a little sigh of pleasure at the contact.

The boy’s reaction was intriguing – and strangely gratifying.

He had not touched a human since taking Elisabeth’s infant daughter. And that had been nothing more than a soft kiss on the forehead. He had not touched Elisabeth since the night of her wedding, when he had roughly dragged her across the dance floor. And the Empress had resisted.

Rudolf, on the other hand, seemed to crave his touch – and, to his surprise, Death found that the prince’s obvious neediness inspired in him a certain amount of … pleasure. Not only because of the triumphant awareness that it was Elisabeth’s son who was thus reacting to him, but also because of the complete novelty of the situation. Humans were such fragile creatures – to feel the throbbing of a heart, the warmth of a body without the awareness that he would presently cause the cessation of both, was a new sensation for Death.

“Are you going to take me?”

Death’s head flew up in surprise. Rudolf was looking at him with a questioning, almost longing expression.

“Do you wish it?”

The prince thought for a moment, then answered in barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

Ignoring the derisive glow of triumph in his chest, Death slowly shook his head. “I cannot, my prince. Not today. Your time has not yet come.”

There was no mistaking the prince’s disappointment. His shoulders slumped and a look of defeat appeared on his face.

Death sighed in frustration. He was aware of the boy’s misery - he had watched him during his training, military and scholastic, had seen the rigid methods and hard punishments dealt for failure. He had seen Rudolf’s spirit break more than once, had seen him numbly stumbling through a life in which he had no say. For years, he had known that sooner or later, the crown prince would come flying into his arms – he had, however, not anticipated that he would come quite so soon or so willingly. And he did feel a certain twinge of regret at having to refuse him - but the course of history was set and Rudolf would have to struggle on for several more years.

However, seeing how the boy enjoyed his presence, he could offer at least temporary relief. Death reached behind Rudolf’s back and pulled him forward into a cautious embrace. If physical comfort was what it took to soothe the prince until his time came, Death was prepared to provide it.

At first, Rudolf seemed to be startled by his actions, but after remaining stiff in his arms for a moment, he leaned into the touch hungrily, burying his head in Death's shoulder.

Death frowned. Was this all it took to tear down the rigid behavioural and social scaffolds of Rudolf’s arch-conservative, military upbringing? He knew the prince was sensitive, emotional – that his education as a soldier had torturously twisted his nature – but he hadn’t anticipated that it would be so easy to expose his neediness.

Then again, the whole nature of their encounter was highly unusual.

And highly enjoyable.

Death could not deny that the warmth of the mortal body in his arms, the smell of the boy’s hair and the scent of his breath, all so ... human, sent a thrill through his physical form. Rudolf, too, relaxed against him and gave a sigh of pleasure when Death ran a strong hand down his back.

\---

Rudolf revelled his friend’s caress - this embrace was bliss and he never wanted it to end.

“Please take me!” he whispered, not caring that he was begging.

Death chuckled. “Not today, my prince.”

Rudolf felt a cold hand come to rest on the small of his back and a mouth speak without breath close to his ear.

“I will take you when your time has come.” Death whispered softly, and Rudolf’s heart hammered against his ribs.

\---

The boy responded to his slightest touch, Death found. Fingers softly drawn through his hair, the mere whisper of a touch on his hips – Rudolf reacted to the faintest movement of his hands like a finely tuned instrument. And Death was learning how to play fast.

He also found that the thrill he had felt at their initial contact, far from wearing off, had increased with every sound of pleasure that he drew from the prince. He could not define it, but it coursed through his corporeal form like a tangible current of … need. Want. He craved this human’s soul, coveted the satisfaction of the kiss, the feeling of the spirit being torn form the flesh and the release that accompanied it.

And it would be so easy to take the boy, already in his arms like a sacrificial offering.

But release would have to wait - he would have to control his craving and let Rudolf live.

He paused.

Rudolf.

Turning his mind away from the preoccupation with his own sensations, he paid attention to the boy in his arms, who had gone oddly stiff. The prince’s heart was beating frantically and his breath came in little gasps.

What was the matter with him? Had he finally grasped the precariousness of his situation?

Death shifted a bit to see if fear had finally engulfed the mortal in his arms, but found that it was an entirely different emotion with which Rudolf was struggling.

A warm hardness pressed into his thigh when he shifted the prince, and the boy gasped slightly at the movement.

Death raised an eyebrow. Strange creatures, humans were.

Not that he was unaware of the physiological characteristics of the human reproductive apparatus – the number of humans who he had had the misfortune to collect while in the throes of love had been quite considerable. However, he had never anticipated that he could have this particular effect on a human – and he had certainly never felt the manifestation of said effect.

After a moment, Death was torn from the contemplation of the mystery of human sexual desire by a highly novel sensation he was experiencing himself. At this intimate contact, the current of need that had been coursing through his chosen bodily form changed, swelled and channelled itself into … a corresponding region.

If there had been blood running though his veins, Death might have flushed in embarrassment that these hitherto undiscovered mechanics of his temporary earthly shell worked in analogy to those of a human. Instead, he revelled the feeling for a moment, thinking.

And then, intrigued, curious how far the analogy would hold, he reached down between them and ran a slow, heavy hand across the mound in the prince’s uniform.

\---

Rudolf knew this was wrong.

His common sense, his education and training in combat and survival, the values that had been hammered into his mind since he had been old enough for abstract thought and even before that – all screamed at him that what he was doing this very moment was an abysmal mistake, a crime against nature, and that he was going to hell for this.

Not enough that he was embracing Death and enjoying that embrace, he was also letting himself be touched as by a lover and reacting to said touch as a lover would.

This last aspect of his current situation was what mortified the crown prince most. He could not – must not! – react like _this_ to the touch of any being, supernatural or human, that came in the form of a _male_.

And yet, his friend’s touch stirred him in unprecedented ways. Rudolf froze and went rigid as he realized just how far his unnatural emotions had exposed him already.

Would his friend notice? Would he be shocked? Disgusted? Would he leave?

There was a pause in Death’s caresses. Rudolf held his breath. _Please no!_

And then the soft, cold hand that had rested on his back moved to his lap and touched him _there._

A deep-throated moan broke forth from the prince’s lips, which could not have been mistaken by anyone – mortal or not – for anything but plain, unadulterated lust.

Dread filled the prince. He’d gone too far!

But before he had time to apologize, there was a movement quick as a bolt of lightning - and a fraction of a second later, Rudolf found himsel lying on his back with Death’s cold form on top of him, grinding against him mercilessly and all coherent thought was swept from his mind.

\---

The moan that escaped the boy’s lips was enough to undo Death’s self control.

He lunged forward, pushing the prince onto his back roughly and it was all he could do to stop himself from crushing his lips against the mortal’s and ripping his soul from his body. Instead, he pressed his form against the warm body underneath him with intensity bordering on desperation.

_Ecstasy._

Was this lust?

Was this the feeling humans pursued with such determination and stupidity?

If so, Death felt, he could hardly blame them.

He could hardly estimate if it was seconds or minutes later that he regained his capability for rational thought sufficiently to allow him to consider Rudolf. Had he been hurt by his rough treatment?

For a moment, Death drew back to see if he had injured Rudolf in his rash movement – but when the mortal underneath him groaned and buckled in disappointment at the loss of pressure, doubt vanished from Death’s mind and he lowered himself once more, a wicked grin spreading on his features.

\---

Then the pressure was back and the pleasure he felt at the contact redoubled.

This was nothing like Rudolf’s illicit affair with the kitchen maid that had lasted one day and had resulted in her dismissal and his forced presence at a military exercise in Bohemia. There was no sweaty heat or throbbing flesh. This was divine and felt more right than anything the crown prince had ever experienced before. He felt disembodied, floating in a sea of pleasure. All the worries, the pain, the fears and uncertainties that accompanied him every day of his life had faded into the background and he felt as if the whole universe converged on the feeling of his friend’s body on his.

And then the feeling morphed and became almost unbearably perfect. Suddenly, the pressure seemed to come not only from Death’s form on top of him, but also from within.

Through the haze of pleasure that had engulfed him, the prince looked down and saw that Death’s shape had become translucent in the area of his pelvis and that it had half-sunk into his own lower body. Their beings had fused into one and it was enough to behold this and the bliss on his friend’s face to send Rudolf over the edge.

\----

Death did not understand how it had happened, but in the heat of their encounter and the closeness of their contact, his form had lost some of its solidity and had entered the prince’s own body.

But far from causing pain like it usually did when he penetrated a mortal, Death noted, the joining of their bodies seemed to afford Rudolf intense pleasure.

After only a moment’s pause, Death himself was overwhelmed by sensation. He could feel the prince’s frantically throbbing heart, the blood bulging in his veins, the heat radiating off his skin and the shivering, shallow breaths he drew – as if they were his own.

It took Death an interminable moment to understand that he was feeling … alive - that by joining their bodies, they had also joined their senses and were now united – human and supernatural, eternal and mortal, dead and _so alive!_

The current of need and craving for the boy’s soul, which had centred itself in the part of his form that had morphed with Rudolf’s body, condensed into an impossibly tight, pulsing orb.

And then the prince screamed in ecstasy and the orb exploded with unimaginable force, occluding anything but bliss from Death’s ethereal mind.


	10. February 5th 1889, 7:30 pm, Hofburg, Vienna

A shrill scream tore Rudolf from the haze of memories of pleasures past and sensations present. He froze, as did his friend on top of him.

Already fearing the worst, Rudolf twisted around uncomfortably on the desk over which Death had bent him – only to find his mother standing in the door, hanging onto the frame for support and staring at them in horror. In panic, he looked back up at his friend.

They had both acknowledged that sooner or later, the former Empress would have to know. Death’s presence in Rudolf’s life was far too frequent an event to go unnoticed by his mother, especially if denied funds to spend much time away from court. But they had agreed that it would be later rather than sooner.

Now the damage had been done and the explosion was yet to come. The Empress looked ready to faint. She was pale and trembling and had not yet spoken.

Rudolf looked up at his lover for support.

Death’s expression was unreadable. He gracefully slid off Rudolf and also pulled the prince back into a standing position. Instead of letting go of him, though, he kept one arm tightly wrapped around his hip in a possessive gesture.

The crown prince blushed at being treated like a working girl by her sweetheart at a popular dance, but remained silent and took comfort in his friend’s physical presence. He would not let him face his fears alone.

Death turned to Elisabeth, looked at her coldly and asked in a very off-hand manner: “What have you come for?”

Elisabeth stood dumbfounded for another moment and her eyes dropped from Death’s blank expression to his arm slung around her son’s hip and then rose again to Rudolf’s face. The prince was looking at the floorboards determinedly.

The white in the Elisabeth’s cheeks was slowly replaced by a dark shade of purple. She seemed to swell with rage.

“How _dare_ you? How dare you touch my son?!” She yelled, voice shaking in anger.

Death’s eyes narrowed into slits and Rudolf’s head flew up in surprise. He had not expected his mother to be concerned like this.

“How dare you use another one of my children in your sick pursuit? How dare you corrupt him in such an unnatural way to get to _me_?”

Rudolf’s heart, which had soared with joy at his mother’s supposed display of protectiveness, turned to lead. It was about her. As always.

Death’s grip on Rudolf’s waist tightened and the prince could feel his friend prepare a vicious retort in defence of their relationship. But there was no need for him to speak.

“Mother, calm yourself. Rage is unbecoming to you.”

Both, Rudolf’s mother and his lover, who had been staring at each other with venomous hatred, turned to look at him, stunned. He continued.

“None of this is your concern, mother. I am not being corrupted or taken advantage of. I initiated this as much as he did. And before you ask, this has been going on for _fifteen_ years. It may be wrong – against the laws of nature, man and God – but _I don’t care_.”

Rudolf paused and thought for a moment, then held up his arm and pulled back the sleeve of his loosely fitting shirt, which he had instinctively drawn down on being discovered by his mother. Now, in the warm light from the fire and the chandelier, the innumerable scars that furrowed his flesh as well as the fresh cuts were clearly visible.

Death, as always, felt a dim glow of pride at the sight. _Mine_.

Elisabeth, by contrast, paled again and looked up at her son.

“I am what the monarchy – what you, father and Sophie – made me. I have long since ceased to expect human affection – but I have him. And ironically, I owe him my life. If it hadn’t been for what I saw because of him, I would already have blown out my brains at Mayerling. You sent me away. You sent us both away. So often. And now you have your wish – we have gone. Accept it.”

If possible, Elisabeth had blanched even further at her son’s casual mention of his suicidal intentions. Death, on the other hand, triumphantly smiled at both, Rudolf’s display of loyalty and the Empress’ look.

Elisabeth stared from Rudolf to his lover in desperation, then turned and fled the room.

 

 

 


	11. February 10th 1889, 10:00 am, Hofburg, Vienna

The day of the coronation had come. From Sarajewo to Prague, from Kronstadt to Graz – all the bells of the Habsburg Empire were tolling as a carriage left the yard of the Hofburg, gleaming in baroque splendour. Thousands of people were lining the streets, wearing their best clothes and craning their necks to catch one last glimpse of the Crown Prince before he became Emperor. There was music and cheering and a sea of flags being waved.

Rudolf sat in the carriage and felt numb. The long, fine dagger he wore concealed under the sleeve of his coronation gown felt cool against his skin and as he twisted his arm slightly, allowing the blade to just graze his skin, he felt it was the only thing that anchored him in reality. He had been forcedly prepared for this day all his life … and yet, he had never thought about it. Had he subconsciously known that he never would have – should have! – lived to see it?

The carriage turned another corner and the noise from the crowd changed. Mixed among the loud shouts of “Long live the Emperor!” were a few more croaky calls. Rudolf twisted in his seat to see who it was, for he hadn’t caught the words – only to witness the Imperial Guard shoving back a group of shabbily dressed, emaciated beings. Workers.

Rudolf sighed and buried his head in his hands at the unwelcome reminder of the weight of the burden he was about to shoulder. He wondered how deep he could press the dagger, how much relief he could gain from it, without drawing enough blood to visibly stain the coronation gown generations of Habsburg Emperors had word before him.

The carriage came to a halt. The music flared.

They had arrived at St. Stephen’s Cathedral at the heart of the city and two guards were opening the doors of the carriage.

Trying to steady his shaking hands, Rudolf tore himself from the relative comfort of the enclosed space to face the people he would rule in a question of hours.

\----

The ceremonial train had formed and was slowly making its way down the aisle, Rudolf at the front, followed closely by Stephanie, his wife. She was dressed in elaborate robes and decked with ornaments – but even so, she could not begin to match the aura of grace and splendour that accompanied Elisabeth even on the most ordinary of days. Stephanie was, after all, rather plain and subdued in nature. Rudolf suspected that his mother had made sure that here successor would be no match for her when helping her husband choose a suitable wife for their son.

Looking away from his spouse grimly, Rudolf focussed on the high altar, where a throne had been set up and two cardinals and several bishops were waiting with the balms and crown jewels.

Cold dread was gnawing at his insides and he felt overcome with the imperturbable belief that _he could not do this._ He could not run an empire nor steer the politics of the state apparatus, could not struggle against all odds to save this world and everyone in it from the certain doom and destruction towards which they were racing.

Trying to breathe calmly, he twisted his arm in a convulsive motion. Mercilessly the dagger sliced into his skin, doubtlessly drawing blood.

Rudolf’s fear that someone might see the crimson staining his gold, white and purple robes was drowned in blessed relief as the dread clinging to his heart was washed away by the familiar wave of euphoria. A feeling which was short-lived.

_You are pathetic._

_You are destroying yourself._

_Weak. Useless. Sinful. Wicked. Unnatural. Dammed._

_How can you possibly hope to save anyone else when you are such a wreck yourself._

A voice whispered from within the recesses of his mind. A voice, which sounded awfully like his grandmother, sitting only a few meters away in the front pew.

Closing his eyes, Rudolf wished with an ardent fervour that he had pulled the trigger at Mayerling, that he had let the heavy nuzzle of his gun release him from all responsibility and pain.

“Do not falter, my prince.”

Rudolf jerked out of his thoughts.

A cool hand had intertwined its fingers in his.

“You shall change this world and you shall not be alone in doing so.”

There was a soft, divine pressure on his palm.

“And ‘til then, everything that helps you hang on is only a means to an end…”

The pressure vanished.

The train came to a halt. The organ music died down.

Rudolf looked up and saw that they had arrived at the altar. Already, the Cardinal was intoning a Latin chant, oblivious that Death himself was standing mere feet away, behind the ornamented ancient throne, ready to embrace the Emperor as soon as he lowered himself onto it.


	12. February 10th 1889, 11:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna

Rudolf’s heart was beating so desperately against his ribs, blood throbbing through his veins, that he thought he might suffocate.

The balcony of the Hofburg, from which he was about to address his people for the first time in his career as their emperor, was looking out over an unmatched multitude. He stepped out into the gleaming sunlight and laid his hands on the cool stones of the banister. Not as cool as _his_ hands, but somewhat reassuring still.

Trying his best to hold himself together, he reached for the speech which had been prepared for him by the advisory board and parliament, the men standing behind him, looking out with disdain over the common masses that had come to hail their new ruler. The hopeful air of the commoners was impossible to miss. Rudolf was known to hold reformatory views and while that inspired a certain antipathy and mistrust in the complacent ruling class, the poorer echelons of society had come today praying for change.

Rudolf looked down at the speech, which had been copied out for him neatly, and tried to stop the trembling in his fingers. He had not even been given time to rehearse it.

As he tried to steady himself, though, a word caught his eye. _Continuity._

He frowned and let his eyes roam over the page quickly.

_...tradition...honour...splendour...great Monarchy...my father’s heritage...uphold excellent policy..._

Despite his nervousness, anger rose in Rudolf’s chest. He had been handed what was basically an elegy for his father, an excelsior for his policies and a promise of continuing them.

He lowered the papers, looked out over the people and approached the magnifier.

“To my people!”

Rudolf flinched a bit as his voice boomed out over the square, but he was still filled with indignation at the men behind him who were trying to use him as their political pawn. He took a deep breath.

“I stand here today, not as the keeper of the Monarchy built by my ancestors, nor the saviour of tradition. This empire stands at a turning point in history and I do not intend to maintain an outdated social order or antiquated policies in a world in which they no longer belong. If this empire is to prosper and its people to live in health and contentment, change is needed and change is what I promise you today.”

There was silence as Rudolf paused for breath and then frenzied whispers sprang up behind his back. A fraction of a second later, though, these were drowned in the cheers from the crowd below.

All Rudolf could hear as he thought about what to say next, however, was a low chuckle in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I know it's been ages since I updated. Sorry - uni work galore! Trying to make up for it by posting a couple of chapters in a row, though, so brace yourselves! 
> 
> Oh and to all the people well-versed in the details of Austrian history, I do apologize for being ... er ... rather liberal with the facts. But what with them supplying such good raw material - they sort of had it coming! 
> 
> I am grateful for any and all reviews and comments! Seriously - they have me bouncing around the room, so keep them coming. ;) 
> 
> Next chapter is going to be a bit more explicit again, so beware...


	13. February 11th 1889, 00:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna.

It was well past midnight when the doors of the Imperial Apartments swung shut behind Rudolf and he was finally alone.

The tension that had hung in the air over the coronation dinner had been palpable – sharing a meal with a group of people whose political intentions he had thwarted publicly mere hours before was not a very comfortable business. Nor was sitting beside his mother, who had kept shooting angry, jealous glances at him.

More than once, he had found himself wondering if she had noticed the blood on his robe, thankfully hardly visible because it had soaked a part of the gown consisting of purple velvet, or if she could hear the tender whispers of comfort and see the cold, ghostly touches that accompanied them.

He had been released only after the servants had carried away all the plates and the musicians had returned their instruments to their cases. Bidding his guests good night, he had hardly managed to conceal his impatience for them to leave.

Now that he stood alone in the empty room, lit only faintly by the glowing embers of the dying fire, he felt he could breathe freely for the first time since rising the morning before. Discarding the gold and diamond cufflinks of his gown, he removed his slim dagger from where it had lain concealed all day, sighing as the cool night air touched his open wound.

Placing his treasured weapon on the nightstand beside him, his fingers moved up to do battle with the intricate fastenings of his gown. After several unsuccessful assails, Rudolf had to admit to defeat and tiredly resigned himself to having to call a valet.

Even as he reached for the bell, however, he felt a gentle tug on his cloak. The click of hooks being unfastened and a brush of icy fingers against the back of his neck told him that his friend had arrived.

He stood silently in the dark and let Death undress him.

As the heavy robes of satin, velvet and fur pooled around his feet, Rudolf felt the whispered touches of his friend caress his flushed skin. Soon, he was standing naked but for the thin undershirt and linen trousers he had worn underneath the lavish garments.

Then, Death stepped up to him from behind and Rudolf leaned into his heavenly cold body while his friend’s arms snaked around his waist and under his shirt.

“My prince,” his voice purred into his ear and a soft moan escaped Rudolf’s lips as strong fingers ran across his chest and slid his shirt upwards. He compliantly raised his arms and the shirt was pulled gently over his head before being discarded on the floor with the rest of his clothes.

“Though they have crowned you emperor today –“

Rudolf gasped as his friend’s hands returned to his chest and then roamed lower, toying with the waistband of his linen trousers.

“ – you will always be _my_ prince.”

A shiver passed through his body as his friend’s fingers gently brushed the curls of his intimate hair before venturing even lower. A second later, he cried out.

A low chuckle rang in his ear and icy lips brushed against the sensitive skin just behind it.

“You are eager tonight.”

In response, Rudolf’s hips gave a desperate thrust.

Another chuckle and then his friend’s other arm pulled him backwards, locking Rudolf’s body to his in an iron hold, effectively suppressing any attempt at premature relief.

“Not so fast, my prince.”

Incapable of movement, Rudolf could only moan in response.

Over the years, their actions on nights like this had developed an intricate pattern with numberless variations, almost like the Waltz which had kept every layer of Viennese society swaying and swirling for several years now. Their every touch and breath had a rhythm, a tempo and after all these years, they followed it instinctively. After the torturously slow beginning, during which Death’s cold fingertips would dive just millimetres under his burning flesh, his friend would take mercy on him and steadily steer him towards the crescendo.

As the glowing embers in the grate died and the ghostly light of the full moon shifted the shadows on the chamber floors, Rudolf danced with Death and the night was lost in sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not dead! And I am so incredibly sorry for only updating now! 
> 
> My lame apology? An internship at the other end of the country and my daft decision to travel only with my pack and leave my computer (and inadvertently the manuscript for this story) behind.  
> My attempt to make it up to you guys? Regular updates in the next couple of weeks! 
> 
> Also, I was terribly moved when I saw all your comments! (And I felt even more guilty for not updating in so long!) What can I say? Reviews make me happy! :)
> 
> Finally: I have not been entirely lazy in the fandom and I now have a book recommendation for you - "A Nervous Splendour" by Frederic Morton. A portrait of Viennese society in 1888/9, with plenty of anecdotes and information, centering, of course, on our favourite crown prince. ;)


	14. February 11th 1889, 08:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand another chapter, as promised. Something a little lighter, for a change. :)

_“My prince …”_

The bright sunlight flooded the Imperial bedroom and Rudolf lay tangled in the sheets. His eyes were closed still, though he had been awake for some time. He knew that as soon as he chose to look on this new day, the vivid impression of last night, the lingering cool of his friend's touch, the echo of his voice and the memory of his kiss would fade.

 _Boom_. The bedroom doors were banged open without ceremony.

Rudolf jerked up in bed, disoriented by the racket and blinded by the morning sunshine. After a moment, his vision returned and a maid, standing in the doorway, holding a broom and a duster and looking terrified out of her mind, slowly swam into focus.

Suddenly remembering that he had not bothered to don his nightshirt after last night’s exertions, Rudolf blushed and drew the blanket over himself hurriedly.

Letting out a little scream of horror the maid blushed furiously and covered her eyes, cleaning implements clattering to the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir, your majesty, sir, I did not mean to intrude, your majesty, I was told by the head housemaid that these rooms would be vacant, sir, I am so sorry, sir, your majesty, I don’t know how to apologize, I –“

At this point, the maid was interrupted in her frenzied string of apologies – by the slightly hysterical laughter of the Emperor.

The sight of a shaking, terrified little maid, covering her face in a futile attempt to preserve her modesty, curtseying like mad and babbling out apologies, cleaning utensils strewn at her feet, had been too much for his still-sleep-dazed mind. He permitted himself to laugh for a moment longer, then brought himself under control – it would not do to scare the poor little thing further.

“It is alright – “

“Effie, sir …” the maid supplied weakly.

“It is alright Effie – you could not have known, but my habits are very different from my father’s. You shall soon receive a new schedule to follow. For now, I would like to be left alone.”

Curtseying again and again, the maid began to back out of the room, still scared out of her wits, then realized that she had forgotten her broom and duster. Blushing once more, she darted forwards, snatched the cleaning things and fled the room without further pretence.

Rudolf let himself fall back onto the sheets and groaned. His momentary hilarity had fast given way to frustration tinged with despair. Not only had the maid’s intrusion been a more than unwelcome reminder that the whole Empire was still running according to his father’s wishes, but he also feared that once Effie go over her shock, she would recall … certain aspects of his appearance. The last thing he needed was rumours in the kitchen, rumours about _that._

Heaving another defeated sigh, Rudolf sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side. After all, he had political enemies to face, ancient structures to overturn … and a new household schedule to draw up.


	15. February 11th 1889, 11:30 am, Parliament, Vienna.

“Scientists, your majesty?!?” the old parliamentarian asked in shock.

It was all Rudolf could do to keep himself from groaning. Shock had been the reaction he’d elicited with almost all of his actions that day. Shock had been evident on the face of the head housemaid when he’d summoned her to the breakfast table and explained to her that in future he would take a pot of coffee and a roll with butter and jam for breakfast and that the buffet laid out on the side boards was to be packed up and brought to the nearest charitable institution before it spoiled. Shock had been the response of the grooms on being told that he would ride to parliament himself rather than being driven in a carriage. And finally, shock had also been clearly visible on the faces of everyone he encountered as he made his way through the gates of the parliament and towards the conference room.

The politicians who now surrounded him were still staring at the Emperor with confusion and for once Rudolf thought that his father’s idea of keeping the power of parliament as limited as possible might not have been a bad idea. God help the monarchy if it were being run by these dunderheads!

“Yes, scientists. I want a team of the best physicists, chemists, engineers, doctors, agriculturalists, architects, geologists, etc. etc. assembled here in Vienna to work on the most pressing issues the monarchy is struggling with. The various diseases and the way in which they spread, the supply of fresh water in the cities, the most efficient way of crop rotation to maximize yields - I want experts to find solutions.”

“But, but, but your majesty! Surely your father’s … I mean your advisory committee could find solutions much sooner – together with parliament of course. In the current economic climate, with all those people out of work …” a little old man with a monocle stammered, clutching his pipe so tightly that the mouthpiece cracked.

“Dear Schröder, I know you only do your best – “ _to delay any sort of change I might introduce_ “- but I want people who spend their lives pondering these problems to work on them. However, you are right – the current economic situation does demand swift action – and I already have some ideas …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter for now - but the next one is much longer and just has to be revised before I can post it. :) From what I gathered from my reading over the summer, Rudolf really had many plans for reform, which were continually suppressed by his father and the government. I really do wonder what would have happened if he'd been allowed to realize some of them ...


	16. February 17th 1889 10:00, Vienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The second part of this chapter contains soppiness! I wanted to stay true to the musical and insert a scene to make the old ladies in the audience go "Aawwww!" while everyone else flinches at the maudlin sentimentality. ;)

 

The people of Vienna were in a haze of confusion. The past few weeks had brought developments that most had not dared to imagine in their wildest dreams.

On the day after the coronation of their new Emperor, wagons had arrived in the poverty-stricken areas of the city, bearing milk and bread and fruit that which was distributed among the waiting poor. It was further announced that public construction programmes would commence in a matter of weeks and that all willing workers were welcome to register their names at small employment offices scattered over the city.

Rumours spread through the populace that a group of professors, scientists and intellectuals had been assembled in the Hofburg to discuss problems of public welfare and while many thought this tale fantastic, strange figures in white coats carrying foreign instruments were, sure, enough, seen to be walking the streets with maps in their hands, pulling up water from every well they passed, frowning at every outhouse and scribbling away on clipboards.

Before the week was out, a further shock was dealt to the factory workers – on Friday, they were told by their visibly disgruntled foremen that _social_ regulations were to be implemented by royal order. They heard with wonder that there were to be safety measures, limited working hours, a minimum wage and a prohibition of child labour.

Then Sunday, the sixth day after the coronation, came and many working men were woken by shouts of joy from their wives who had not only been handed bread and milk and fruit but also a good portion of meat.

That day a much larger crowd than usual assembled on the square in front of St. Stephen’s Cathedral at the heart of the city, for word had spread that the Emperor would be attending the public service. Dressed in their best clothes, they watched as their new ruler arrived on a horse flanked by two guards and was greeted by looks of distaste, distrust and dislike by most of the upper echelons of society as he walked to the front of the great church, briefly kneeled in front of the altar and then seated himself in the front pew.

He looked drawn, pale and tired, they noted, and coldly ignored the hardly concealed glares of the members of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie throughout the service. When the priest had concluded with the words “Go hence in peace.”, the congregation rose and waited for the Emperor to make his way towards the exit.

Walking slowly, as if in pain, he glanced neither left nor right. The silence that accompanied his progress was broken only by the click of his heels on the flagstones, which echoed throughout the huge gothic structure. The rich stared at him with antipathy, the poor with wonder.

Almost at the door, the Emperor was ambushed. A little girl had escaped the grasp of her mother, slipped inbetween the guards and threw herself at the man wearing the blue and gold uniform as he was walking past. The Emperor doubled over as the little child hit him and knocked the wind out of him.

There was a collective intake of breath and it was only when the Emperor straightened up and looked down at the girl who had her arms wrapped tightly around his midriff and was smiling up at him, that there was a general sigh of relief that he had not been assassinated.

The Emperor looked stunned.

“Thank you for all the lovely food!” the little girl chirped up at him.

A second later, whispers broke out among the front pews and several of the well-off frowned at the pathetic display with distaste. “They ought to pull it off him,” one lady in a mink coat whispered, rather audibly, “before it gives him fleas!”

The Emperor, however, motioned for his guards to stay off and then, very awkwardly, placed one hand on the girl’s shoulder and patted her head with the other.

“I am glad you enjoy it,” he said after some consideration, returning the girl’s smile. “After all, you need to grow big and strong.”

The little girl nodded in agreement and the Emperor gently unwrapped her arms from around his waist and, taking her hand, led her back to her mother.

The poor woman stood there, white as a sheet, staring at the man who was holding her daughter’s hand. The Emperor let go of the little girl, who went to stand beside her mother, smiling happily.

“You have a very sweet girl,” he said warmly, “You should take good care of her.”

And with a smile and a nod at the dumbstruck woman, he left the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death's back in the next chapter. Bear with me here!


	17. March 1st 1889 00:30, Hofburg, Vienna

The fires in the grates of the Imperial apartments had burned low already when Rudolf’s friend arrived.

The moment Death materialized, he knew something was terribly wrong.

Rudolf lay stretched out on the chaise beside his desk, an arm thrown over his face, covering his eyes. The jacket of his uniform lay crumpled on the floor and the sleeves of his shirt were drawn back.

Death’s eyebrows rose at the sight of the young Habsburg’s arms. Dozens of savage gashes cut across them without system or restraint and blood was flowing freely. The guilty dagger had fallen from Rudolf’s outstretched hand and lay on a pillow beside his head.

A strong smell of liquor hung in the air and an empty bottle of Brandy stood on the low coffee table beside the chaise.

“You finally came.” Rudolf did not move when he spoke and his voice was slightly slurred.

“I always come to you, my prince.” Death answered, stepping closer to the chaise. He carefully lowered himself onto it, looking at the young man, intrigued.

During all the years of their acquaintance he had hardly ever seen the prince this undone. Despite the many strains he was subjected to, he mostly managed to hold himself together, only allowing himself to fall apart when in Death’s arms - and even then …

But this. The last time he had seen Rudolf in a similar state had been on the night of his wedding to Stephanie of Belgium. He had suffered quietly through the ceremony and the banquet but when the time had come for him to take the blushing bride to bed to make her his wife, his self-control had crumbled and he had recoiled from bedding a woman he had no desire to touch and who, moreover, was only giving herself to him out of a submissive sense of duty. Leaving behind a half-naked, indignant Stephanie, he had fled his marriage bed in desperation, feeling like the imperial straight-jacket that had been placed on him at birth was finally going to suffocate him. Death had found him that night on the highest balcony of the palace, too drunk for coordinated movement, white as a ghost and faint from the loss of the blood gushing forth from the innumerable cuts on his arms.

Tonight he seemed to have reached a similar crisis.

“I have been waiting …” Rudolf slurred and Death wondered whether the shaking of his voice was due to the prince’s inebriation or his emotional turmoil.

“I have been to Berlin.” Death said evenly.

Rudolf jerked up. His face was smeared with blood from the wounds on his forearm and he clumsily held onto the chaise to keep himself upright.

“Why?!” he asked intently.

“The German Emperor was assassinated. I took him.”

Rudolf gasped, eyes widening.

Death pensively considered the expression on the prince’s face. There was shock, certainly. The young German Emperor had been Rudolf’s age and had only come into power the year before. No one had expected him to die. And he would not have, Death reflected, if it hadn’t been for Rudolf’s actions. On hearing of the groundbreaking social reforms in the Habsburg Monarchy, workers in Berlin had risen in protest, demanding similar improvements. The Emperor had ordered the demonstrations to be suppressed, particularly those in the area of the palace. A deathly mistake it had turned out – for one emaciated worker, faced with the brutally advancing officials intent on making way for the Emperor’s carriage, had laid hands on a gun and acted in desperation.

But there was something else, hidden beyond the obvious shock at the German Emperor’s demise.

Jealousy.

Yes, Death supposed that Rudolf had been jealous of his German counterpart for years – he had been everything that the Austrian Crown Prince had failed to be: decisive, physically and militarily adept, respected by his contemporaries, officially involved in politics even before his ascension, a confidant of the Emperor. But mostly, Death felt, Rudolf longed for what Wilhelm had received and he was denying himself – his kiss.

Rudolf frowned as his alcohol-fogged mind processed the information.

Death took advantage of his silence and took the young Habsburg’s arm, running his fingers slowly over the many cuts, effectively staunching the flow of crimson as the arteries and veins contracted under his cold touch. Rudolf had lost quite a lot of blood already and Death could not help but notice the stark contrast between this young Emperor and the one he had just led into his realm. Wilhelm had struggled against him and clung to life with all the determination and single-minded ferocity of a healthy, strong, young man. Rudolf, on the other hand, looked half-gone already, staring sightlessly at his bleeding arms, revelling Death’s icy grasp and clinging to the chaise to keep upright in his inebriation.

“What happened?” Death asked after a while.

Rudolf sighed and slurred his answer; “The committee’s report – it’s ready.”

Death raised a questioning eyebrow and Rudolf continued.

“Fresh water supplied via three long-distance pipes from the mountains, a new canal, waste water treatment facilities, additional sanitary measures, more hospital places. And more research grants.”

The corners of his friend’s mouth twisted  and rose a derisive grin. “I can imagine the council and parliament weren’t too pleased with the conclusion.”

Rudolf laughed, bitterly and without mirth. “They blanched initially, then argued furiously against every single measure. I spent five hours trying to convince them, but got nowhere. In the end, I used my sovereign right to overrule them – those actions will be implemented, whether they want them to be or not!.”

Death watched the indignation flare in the young Emperor’s eyes, but it died down again quickly and they glazed over in a numb look. He was fighting the political apparatus of an ancient empire and it was destroying him.

Leaning forward, he took hold of Rudolf and rose, lifting his prince effortlessly off the chaise. Rudolf gave a yelp of surprise at being treated like a small child – like all those years ago during his first encounter with his friend - but did not protest. Instead, he allowed himself to be carried into the next room, where his friend lowered him gently onto to the waiting four-poster-bed.

“The little girl.” Death said after some consideration.

Rudolf looked up at him in confusion.

“From the cathedral,” his friend elaborated. “She and her brother would have died of hunger yesterday if you had not changed the course of history.”

Gazing up drunkenly at his friend, Rudolf felt touched by both, the realization that he had saved at least two lives and his friend’s well-meant, though clumsy attempt at improving his mood. Death, he supposed, was not used to comforting humans.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked.

Looking down at the pale figure on the bed, Death slowly shook his head. Rudolf might enjoy their closeness, but over the last weeks it had become increasingly apparent that their continued contact was taking its toll on him. It seemed that he had already left an indelible mark on him already, slowly draining his life.

But then, Rudolf looked up at him pleadingly and Death’s resolve weakened as he took in his prince’s desperation.

Slowly he reached out and lightly brushed back the hair that had fallen into the young man’s face before lowering himself onto the sheets beside him.

Being with him might be killing Rudolf, but being alone was worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Finally managed to upload this. The next chapter will have to wait a little while - uni's crazy at the moment and I haven't typed it up yet. Feed me reviews and I might work faster, though. ;)


	18. March 10th 1889, 10:00 am, Hofburg, Vienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! 
> 
> First off, thank you for your wonderful comments! I'm so glad that you like the story and want to see it through to the end. 
> 
> And apologies for the long delay - but now the holidays are finally here and I have almost finished typing the story off. So the next chapters ought to be uploaded over the next couple of days! :) 
> 
> As always, I really appreciate any and all reviews - rest assured that you make my day. ;)

The meeting was tense.

The Emperor had summoned the leaders of all major nationalist formations from the Crown Lands to Vienna to discuss the political future of their countries. They had come heavily armed and guarded by their partisans and though their new ruler had been known as sympathetic to their cause as Crown Prince, they hardly expected any support now.

When the Emperor appeared in the Conference Hall, there was a hush in the various conversations. The day was not yet far advanced, but their ruler looked tired and gaunt. He was pale and thin and a dark halo of shadows surrounded his eyes.

But he was also very determined – for before they had a chance to put forth their arguments, he pre-empted them:

“I have asked you to come here today because there has been a series of radical nationalist actions throughout the monarchy – people have been injured and killed and it must stop. I am aware that it was not you who planned these attacks, but I also know that the people who did are affiliated with your groups.

I understand your desire to live in and govern your own nation, and I agree that the people should have the right to choose their own destiny. The overall structure of this Empire needs to be changed – it has grown to be obsolete over the centuries – but I do believe in the idea of peaceful and prosperous coexistence and cooperation between all peoples and political groups within the Empire and without.

Therefore, I would like to negotiate. I am prepared to offer concessions. Reforms are needed and I believe it  is imperative to take all opinions and views into consideration. I invite you to join me in this endeavour and to shape the future relations of the peoples of the Empire so that, in the end, we will all be able to live in contentment and peace.”

The delegates stood dumbstruck, as much of the rest of the leading classes of the Monarchy would when learning that their Emperor was abandoning a thousand years’ worth of traditions and resting the future of the Monarchy on diplomacy and cooperation.


	19. Summer 1889

Four months after the coronation, the Habsburg Monarchy was in a state of upheaval. In every province, the changes implemented by the new Emperor were met with elation by the lower and indignation by the upper classes.

There were loud protests from the factory owners and industrialists that the new social measures would drive them into bankruptcy, that the new technologies brought forth by the team of scientists assembled in Vienna would not be enough to compensate their additional expenses. The farmers complained that the obligatory introduction of new farming techniques proposed by agricultural experts went against all tradition and would utterly ruin the crops.

The workers and agricultural labourers, on the other hand, watched in wonder as food appeared on their tables and money in their pockets, as they were told to go to the hospital and cared for by doctors when sick, without having to pay.

Soon, the protests of the superiors were drowned in the jubilation of the commoners and in the roar of the changes ploughing through the traditional structure of Habsburg Austria Hungary.

Construction work on water supply and sanitation infrastructure had begun at an amazing pace in all bigger settlements and consequently the percentage of unemployed workers had dwindled to naught. Beggars were fast disappearing off the streets as social institutions – old people’s homes, orphanages, charity schools and homes for the disabled – were opened.

As spring progressed into summer, crops sprung up in unfamiliar patterns on the fields and new machines were installed in factories. The pessimism of industrialists and farmers alike was soon forgotten, as they saw that the effects of the innovations implemented from above were indeed far from detrimental.

All the while, there was daily news on the progression of the revolutionary negotiations carried out behind the walls of the Parthenon-like building on the Ring in Vienna, the new Parliament. Modalities for reforms were decided on, different degrees of independence for the peoples of the Empire debated about.

The ire of the aristocracy swelled silently, as the population of the crown countries gradually united behind their new ruler – and it was late in September, when the crop statistics were about to be released and the final results of the negotiations about to be presented, that it was finally unleashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this kind of radical reform is extremly unrealistic. But then again, Rudolf was known for his progressive, philantropic and science-friendly views and don't forget - he saw both World Wars in his vision and thus basically the apocalypse of the 19th century. I do think that if you have that kind of graphic knowledge of what is coming, you'd do as much as possible as quickly as possible in order to prevent it.  
> Death shows up again in the next chapter - promise. ;)


	20. September 27th 1889, 7:00 pm, Rome

Death was standing in a dark side alley of the eternal city, where workers’ riots had been bloodily beaten down. He had come to claim the souls of the poor devils who had crawled into this dark and dirty corner of the city to escape being arrested and made an example of even in their injured state.

He had passed his hand over the last bloodsmeared face, stopping the ragged breath, when the kaleidoscope of images in his head clicked into focus and showed him a crystal-clear picture. He froze in confusion.

The moment he had left Rudolf at Mayerling to go and claim his father instead, the clarity of vision, the picture of the future he could see distinctly and in detail had shattered and had been replaced by a whirlwind of images through which he could hardly see ahead, a blizzard of possible events.

Now it had stopped and a feeling of dread overcame Death – especially when he realized what scene played out before his inner eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely short and a mean cliffhanger - but the next chapter makes up for it. ;)


	21. September 27th 1889, 7:00 pm, Schönbrunn, Vienna

The banquet at Schönbrunn was tense. Tenser than usual, that is. Once more, Rudolf sighed and wondered why he still bothered to dine with his family and various representatives of the aristocracy when all he received during the meal were hard, cold, accusing glares from his companions. The thanks, he supposed, for undermining their position in society – especially with the reform programme due to be publicly announced the following morning.

Count von Teschenbach in particular was glancing towards him in a malignant way tonight, which was unsettling enough – not to mention that he was also sharing a quiet conversation with both his mother and his wife.

And then, Elisabeth turned towards her son and smiled. Rudolf froze in shock and felt he could hardly breathe for a moment. Then his mother engaged him in a conversation on his little sister Valerie, who was to be married in a month’s time, and the Emperor melted out of his stupor. His mother, it seemed, had forgiven him at last and he could hardly contain his joy.

The conversation carried on easily for several minutes and for the first time in months, Rudolf felt genuine content and happiness spread through his chest. He beamed at his mother and toasted her before taking a deep swing of his wine.

There was a hush in the room and when Rudolf lowered his goblet, he saw his friend standing across the table, had outstretched as if to prevent him from drinking, mouth agape in a silent scream.

\---

Too late.

He had come too late.

He had materialized in the room the second Rudolf had raised the damned cup to his lips and had taken a drought of wine. The Emperor lowered his drink and stared across the table, surprised by his presence.

It only took a second for his startled look to metamorphose into a grimace of pain. Rudolf convulsively clutched at his throat, spluttering and gasping for air. He shivered violently and attempted to rise, but his legs could not support his weight, and collapsed onto the floor.

There were exclamations of surprise and distress from the guests, but Death noticed that many of them were delayed a second too long and sounded just a little too well-rehearsed.

He walked around the table silently, reverently.

People had risen from their seats and were calling for a doctor, falling to their knees beside the Emperor an undoing his cufflinks and collar.

Death snorted derisively. There was enough cyanide coursing through the veins of his beloved prince to kill two oxen. As if undoing his collar would help.

He came to stand beside the choking body. Elisabeth was only feet away, staring down at her son in shock, rigid as a statue.

Gently lowering himself to the floor beside his prince, he looked at the fragile form now drawing its last breaths. It should not have been like this. It should have been quiet and private, Rudolf flying into his arms in his own time out of his own free will. Now the lips of his prince were blue from the poison and he was staring at him through eyes clouded with agony.

For the first time in his existence, Death felt he knew regret – regret for not helping his beloved change the future, regret for his violent end.

He gently took Rudolf’s hand in his and glared up at the former Empress. The woman blanched at the fury in his eyes and took a step back.

Closing his eyes and trying to savour the moment he had yearned for for so long, he lowered his lips onto his prince’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the end? There's more in theory, the question is whether you'd like to read it still? Review?


	22. September 28th 1889, 7:05 pm, Schönbrunn, Vienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments! :) Here's the next part:

Rudolf was burning.

Every cell in his body twisted in pain as fire coursed through his arteries, incinerating his organs. The pain was too overwhelming even to attempt a scream.

And then his friend’s face swam into focus and cool hands touched his cheeks.

_Yes! Please! Please take me! Make it stop! Make the pain go away! Please!_

His friend looked at him sadly and Rudolf knew he’d understood his silent plea, for he slowly lowered his lips unto Rudolf’s.

And the blaze faded. The roaring fires were dimmed and Rudolf felt as if he had been thrown into ice-cold water. Every sensation of gravity, of time, every sense of place left him and all he could feel were Death’s lips on his and all he could see was the face he knew best. He was floating numbly in infinity. 

Then, his friend broke away and the agony returned.

The flames that had seemed quenched flared up once more and now after the temporary reprieve, the pain seemed to have doubled.

A tortured scream broke forth from Rudolf’s lips.

What had happened?

Was this the afterlife?

Was this hell?

From dark corners at the back of his mind, Rudolf’s conservative Catholic upbringing had always whispered wickedly that he was going against every law of nature by becoming the lover of his friend – a supernatural being and a man. He had known that he was going to burn forever, but he had never consciously thought of it, always finding shelter from his fears in the arms of his friend. Now hell’s inferno was engulfing him as punishment for being a sodomite and suicide, for coveting Death and ---

His friend’s lips were back on his. Had he come to rescue him from purgatory?

The pain dimmed once more and the feeling of blissful numbness and nonexistence returned as Rudolf was kissed by Death. Passionately. Hard. Almost savagely.

But just as a faint feeling of pleasure began to materialize in Rudolf’s pain-wrecked body, his friend pulled away with an angry growl and he was thrown back into the infernal fire.

Once more he screamed in agony.

\-------

What was happening?

Rudolf screamed, voice cracking under the strain, fingers clawing desperately at his heart, arteries bulging as if they were about to burst – after Death had kissed him twice!

Death watched, stunned, as a doctor arrived and hurried over to the poisoned Emperor.

Rudolf’s voice had given out and as the doctor pried his hands away from his chest, he convulsed once more, eyes rolling back into his head, and lay still.

There was a deathly silence in the room as the dinner guests stared at the still body of their Emperor.

“Is he dead?” Count Teschenbach finally asked in a shaky voice.

The medical man felt Rudolf’s wrist, then shook his head.

“No – merely unconscious. His mind must have given out under the immense strain of the pain. He was poisoned – cyanide, I should think. Though how he can live if that is the case, is unfathomable. Cyanide is quick and kills its victims within seconds.”

The Count had gone very white and drew a shuddering breath, nodding.

Before Death’s stunned eyes, two servants carried the insensible Emperor to his chambers and the guests dispersed quietly.

Only Elisabeth remained behind, dismissing the Count, who was imploring her to accompany the rest of the party, with a curt shake of the head.

“He should have gone quickly – I’m sorry,” the man said quietly as he slid from the room.

Death shook himself out of his stupor and rose, facing the woman he had loved for so long with disgust.

“I didn’t know … André said it was supposed to be a coup d’état, not …. not an assassination,” she stammered in a small voice. Then her eyes met those of her former lover. “Why didn’t you … Why didn’t you take him?”

Death did not answer, but only glared at her condescendingly before fading into nothingness – only to rematerialize two floors up, in a visible corporeal form he had used in the castle once before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't expect that. ;) Hope it doesn't feel like I'm drawing this out, but this little twist was planned all along. Tell me what you think!


	23. September 28th 1889, 2:00 am, Schönbrunn, Vienna

 

Silence lay over the imperial apartments.

The only light illuminating the Emperor’s bedroom came from the halo of pale moon streaming in through the open windows and the glow of the embers of a dying fire in the grate.

A pale, thin form lay on the bed, drawing ragged, uneven breaths and shivering violently every now and then. A doctor was seated in an armchair beside the patient, his hand on the young man’s forehead.

It was late.

The door creaked open and a female figure clad in a splendid dressing gown entered the room.

“What do you want?” The doctor snarled.

Elisabeth stared at hearing the physician’s hostile tone, but then she looked up and her eyes narrowed into slits as she recognized his face.

“I came to see Rudolf.” She hissed, drawing herself into an imperial poise and trying very hard to seem unafraid.

Death snorted in derision.

“You have no business here. I will not let you finish what you started.”

“I am his mother!” The former Empress protested furiously.

There was an angry growl and a fraction of a second later, Death was standing face to face with Elisabeth, so close that she was painfully aware of his lack of breath as he spoke his next words –

“You are his murderer!”

Despite herself, Elisabeth blanched and took a step back under Death’s glare and his cutting words.

“I told you – André … I mean, Count Teschenbach – he did not, he did not tell me what he thought to do. It was supposed to be a coup d’état, not –“

“- not an assassination, yes.” Death cut her off sharply. “So you said. But plotting the usurpation of your own son with your lover and not inquiring in which way he intends to … remove him is bad enough, would you not agree? Wilful ignorance of the deed makes you no less guilty.”

Elisabeth shook under the fury of her former lover. “I did it to save the Monarchy,” She said quietly, trying to sound sure of herself and failing miserably.

“You did it to revenge yourself,” Death hissed back. He looked at her with cold fury for another moment, then turned and walked back to Rudolf’s bed, replacing his hand on the Emperor’s forehead. “Your son’s suffering is the result of your vanity.”

Elisabeth bristled at his words and soon indignation defeated self-preservation.

“Why didn’t you take him?” She demanded angrily. Death ignored her.

“It was because you couldn’t, wasn’t it? Because in your unnatural abuse of him, you have turned him into something inhuman!”

Death felt Rudolf quiver in silent agony. He stared at the mortal frame and thought bitterly that the Habsburgs – at least Elisabeth and her son – had a gift for guessing his thoughts.

When he had kissed Rudolf, he had felt the relief of the soul, the bliss of it being eased from its broken shell. Rudolf’s spirit had been in his hands and never since the beginning of time had Death savoured the feeling of taking a human so much.

And then he had snapped back.

Rudolf’s soul had slipped from inbetween his fingers and had been torn back into the pain-wrecked body from which he had sought to release it.

An awful suspicion had dawned on him already at that point, but he had tried again, more forcefully, almost desperately – but with the same result.

Now Elisabeth’s words reinforced his own suspicions – he had changed the prince. Humans were not supposed to come into such close contact with him. Most recoiled instinctively – even Elisabeth, who he knew to be attracted to him. But Rudolf …

He ought to have known that by allowing the prince to come so close, he had gone too far. He ought to have known when Rudolf had shared his vision of the future.

Silence reigned the room as Elisabeth stared accusingly at her former lover.

“Water…”

Both, Death and Elisabeth started.

“Water…” Rudolf repeated in a hoarse, croaking voice. His eyes were closed still.

Elisabeth took a step forward, but Death had already reached for a jug and a glass that had been placed on the Emperor’s bedside table.

“Can you hear me, my prince?” he asked softly.

Rudolf’s eyes fluttered open and his gaze focussed slowly on the dark figure leaning over him. A weak smile spread across the young man’s face.

“You came, my friend.”

“I always come to you, my prince – you know it.” Death responded and reached behind Rudolf’s back, helping him to sit up in bed.

Elisabeth watched in sick fascination as her son slowly forced himself into an upright position and leaned against Death’s strong chest, sipping slowly from the glass of water held to his lips. After a moment, Rudolf reached up to hold the glass himself and the sleeve of his loose-fitting shirt fell back.

Elisabeth gasped involuntarily as her son’s arm was exposed. She had seen the scar-littered skin once before, but had done her best to ban the image from her mind.

Both, Rudolf and Death, looked up, having previously forgotten her presence.

There was a flicker of hope in Rudolf’s face for a moment, but then he followed his mother’s gaze to his bare forearm and his expression became one of alarm.

“No-one saw.” Death said evenly. “As your personal physician I made sure that only I touched you.”

Rudolf sighed in relief and leaned back against his friend. There was silence for a moment, then he spoke once more.

“What happened?”

Elisabeth shifted uncomfortably and took a step towards her son’s bed.

“Don’t you think you need some rest, my dear? We can –“

“Cyanide.” Death said before Elisabeth could finish her sentence.

Rudolf looked at him in confusion and alarm.

“You were poisoned with cyanide by a group of conspirators here at court.”

“But cyanide is …”

“Deadly, yes. Normally.”

Rudolf looked puzzled and let his eyes trail over his body, almost as if wanting to make certain that he was indeed still alive.

“So the pain … that was the poison?” he asked after a moment.

Death nodded. Elisabeth swallowed.

“But why didn’t you take me?” Rudolf demanded, anger creeping into his tired voice.

“I tried.” Death answered quietly. “I couldn’t.”

At first, extreme confusion spread on Rudolf’s face, but then Death’s hand traced along the young man’s back and came to rest on his hip, pushing up the hem of his shirt and pressing softly into the exposed flesh. Something wordless passed between them and Rudolf's eyes widened in understanding.

Understanding that soon turned into alarm.

“So will I never be able to go with you?!” he asked, voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion.

Death remained silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. He knew that there could be nothing worse for his prince than to be doomed to continue the life he hated when all he had desired for the past two decades had been his kiss.

“I am not certain. For now, I fathom, some power beyond my scope, some greater entity, wants you to stay alive. We altered fate at Mayerling. Maybe fate is now set on a different course – a course that requires you to stay in this world for some time longer.”

The panic on Rudolf’s face subsided somewhat, but did not disappear. After a moment he lowered his eyes admitted quietly, almost sheepishly, “I never thought there were any powers beyond you.”

Death chuckled lightly at the boy’s blind faith in him. “Oh my dear prince – I exist within the boundaries of time and destiny. I see the future path of history and ensure that it is smooth. Or I have so far. At Mayerling I defied these powers. The universe is out of joint and I do not know what will happen next.”

Rudolf's heart beat painfully as he stared at his lover. Never before had he realized the magnitude of his friend’s sacrifice for him. At a loss for words, he closed his eyes once more and laid his head onto his friend’s shoulder. A cool hand stroked his hair.

“Who was it?” Rudolf asked after a while.

Elisabeth's head jerked up. Death stared into nothingness and continued to rake his long fingers through Rudolf’s locks.

“Who were the conspirators who tried to poison me?" Rudolf asked again after a moment. "Who knew? I will have to have them removed from court.”

There was silence in the room and when he received no response, Rudolf sat up with a groan and turned to face his friend.

Death looked at him for a long moment, then answered: “Count Teschenbach put the cyanide into your glass. Though only he and two others knew of the intended poisoning, everybody at the table was aware that you were to be overthrown tonight, though not in what manner.”

It took a moment for this information and its implications to sink in, but then Rudolf spun around to face his mother.

Elisabeth was staring at the floor, expression blank, ashen white. She did not even try to make excuses and no admission of her guild was necessary.

A quiver ran through Rudolf’s body and then he began to shake uncontrollably. His eyes darted around the room, from the nightstand to the desk, the table the cabinet – searching for something, but not finding it. Seemingly of their own accord, the Emperor’s nails began to convulsively claw at his arms.

“Rudolf,” Elisabeth said soothingly, pleadingly, taking a step towards the bed.

A wound had reopened and dark blood was beginning to soak the sheets.

A knock at the door.

The scene froze.

“Excuse me, doctor.” A servant’s voice called in hushed tones. “The gentlemen below ask if there is any change in his majesty. If his majesty is not well, they say, they ought to take steps now to delay all political action – the conclusion of the negotiations in particular.”

Silence once more. Then –

“I am quite well, thank you.” Rudolf called back in a hoarse voice. “I shall come down presently.”

Wincing in pain, but not heeding his mother’s look of mortification or his lover’s glance of fierce pride, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his uniform jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand another chapter up. :) Thank you so much for your lovely reviews - keep feeding them to me and I'll update even faster! ;)


	24. September 28th 1889, 2:30 am, Schönbrunn, Vienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me so long to upload! My excuse? Snowed in while on holiday with no internet available. :P Guess that's the trade-off for going skiing in the Alps. Thank you so much for all your lovely comments! Keep feeding them to me. ;) Here's the next chapter:

Count Teschenbach stood in a corner of the dining room, perspiration on his forehead. The servant they had sent upstairs to see if the Emperor was dead yet had returned with word that his majesty was feeling better and would shortly join them.

The poor man had looked slightly perplexed when his message had elicited not sighs of relief and happy comments but stunned silence and alarm.

There had been unanimous agreement among all those present – the politicians and nobles, even the Emperor’s wife and mother – that their ruler had to be removed in order for the Empire to survive. And for their social position to be stabilized.

He did not understand what could possibly have gone wrong – he had procured the poison himself and had made sure to pour five times the necessary dose into the Emperor’s goblet while he had been distracted by his mother. Somewhere along the way something had gone terribly amiss and now the question on which his life - and the lives of all others present - hung, was whether the Emperor knew what had happened tonight.

There was a step in the hallway and the servants swung open the doors to admit the Emperor.

Rudolf looked impossibly pale and drawn and winced in pain at every step, but he was still very much alive.

Elisabeth entered the room several steps behind her son, keeping her eyes resolutely on the floor.

“I am terribly sorry for causing such a disturbance!” the Emperor said, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. His voice was hoarse and all the persons present were uncomfortably reminded of the blood-curling screams that had chilled them to the bone mere hours before.

“Something must have been wrong with the lamb. I am quite glad that I was the one to feel the unpleasant side effects – and not one of my honoured guests. In any case, I will have the matter investigated in the morning. It was so kind of you to stay, but I can assure you that I am quite alright now. May I take the liberty of summoning your carriages? I cannot bear to have a sleepless night for all of you on my conscience.”

 

\---------------

 

The air was cool in front of the castle of Schönbrunn.

Most guests had dispersed in their various carriages, their disappointment over the failed coup overshadowed by relief at having escaped the Emperor’s wrath – at least for now. They had not spoken of their ruler’s polite dismissal, but no communication was necessary for them to know that everyone had seen through his pretence. He knew. And it was only a question of time until they would feel the consequences.

Count Teschenbach was one of the last to leave. He had attempted to speak to Elisabeth, but she had slipped from the room unnoticed as the servants were bringing in the coats. Well, he had supposed that their brief affair would come to an end once she realized exactly how far he was prepared to go to rid the Monarchy of its menace of an Emperor. But if everything had gone according to plan, she would have outlived her usefulness by that time anyways – at least in political ways …

The night – or rather early morning – air was chilling, but the Count appreciated the sobering sting of the cold after sitting in a well-heated salon for hours on end with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head.

His carriage pulled around the corner of the yard and crawled to a stop in front of him. The driver looked half asleep, but the footman jumped down with remarkable agility and opened the door for him.

The Count waved goodbye to Lady Saxenburg, who was mounting her own carriage not far away, and took his seat.

To door snapped shut behind him and the horses pawed as they pulled the carriage swiftly out of the castle grounds and onto the deserted streets of Vienna. It took a minute for the Count’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then –

“What are you doing in here?” He snapped angrily.

The footman had entered the carriage behind him and was now sitting across from him, holding him fixed in a piercing gaze.

“I have come for you.” He answered in a low voice and Count Teschenbach felt a chill creep up his spine until the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.

“What are you talking about, man? Your place is not in here!” He growled, trying not to show his disconcert.

He was answered with a low, ominous laugh.

“I believe I am exactly where I am supposed to be. You do not imagine that you can poison the Emperor’s wine without any form of ... retaliation?”

Count Teschenbach blood froze on hearing these words. Had this man been sent to assassinate him?

Under his thick fur coat, he reached for a small-calibre pistol he held concealed there for occasions such as these. If the other man made a move, he would defend himself.

But then the carriage passed a street lamp and for a brief moment the Count saw illuminated the face of the man opposite him. Pale platinum hair, otherworldly, translucent features – and a murderous look.

\------------------

The carriage rattled on through the streets of Vienna and the single shot that was fired was drowned in the clatter of wheels on cobblestones. It was only when the Count’s valet opened the door of the carriage at the palais that he found his master dead, a bullet hole in his temple and the guilty gun still clutched in his slowly-cooling hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be more of Death and Rudolf in the next one, I promise. ;)


	25. September 29th 1889, 4:00 am, Schönbrunn, Vienna

Night seemed to have reached its darkest hour and the small palace chapel used for private prayer by the more devout members of the royal family lay eerily quiet. Even the shaking breaths drawn by the single dark figure kneeling on a prayer stool in front of the altar seemed to echo loudly off the ornamented walls and arched ceiling. The only living things seemed to be the statues in the alcoves, whose faces and limbs were animated by the flickering candlelight.  
  
Death was announced only by a chill gust of night air as he materialized noiselessly at the back of the room, frowning at the scene. He wrinkled his nose at the heavy smell of incense hanging in the air and made his way down the main aisle towards his prince.

Humankind's readiness to devoutly believe in divinity had always been beyond his comprehension. At best, he had been faintly amused at the hare-brained concepts humans had spun up over the course of the millennia. At worst he had been disgusted  
at their self-righteous stupidity and lack of self-preservation. In passing, he glared up at the effigies of saints, at Christ on the crucifix and at the paintings of martyrs who had died for their various causes.  Well, at least they had kept him busy.  
  
  
Coming to a halt behind Rudolf, Death placed his hands on the young man's shoulder and tenderly ran them down his arms.  
  
  
The Emperor's breath hitched in what sounded like a suppressed sob and his thin frame trembled under Death's cold touch.  
  
 Once more, Death frowned.

He had expected that the night's events would take their toll on the young Habsburg - for while Rudolf had been aware that his actions had antagonized a great part of the ruling class, he had not foreseen that their ire would run deep enough to contemplate regicide.  Elisabeth's betrayal too had hit Rudolf hard - Death knew that, despite his actions and words, some half-forgotten, child-like part of his lover still longed for the approval and love of his ever-elusive mother.  
  
But Death had not anticipated this scenario, this surge of devoutness - Rudolf had never been particularly churchly, avoiding services wherever possible and never engaging in prayer or meditation when on his own. But considering his arch-Catholic upbringing ...  
  
 "What have I become?" the Emperor whispered, voice still raw and unsteady.  
  
 Ah - so that was where the heart of the matter lay. Trying to evade a question to which he himself was still seeking the  
answer, Death asked one himself.  
  
 "What is it you fear, my prince?" he inquired, as he lowered himself onto the smooth flagstones behind Rudolf, wrapping his arms around his chest and resting his chin on his shoulder.  
  
 Silence descended onto the chapel as Rudolf remained rigid in his position, hands still clasped as if in prayer, head lowered.  
  
 "Hell." he answered after a moment in a barely audible whisper.  
  
 For an instant, the chapel lay deathly quiet.  
  
Then dark chuckles broke forth from Death's lips, and soon he erupted  into high-pitched laughter - a sound otherworldly enough to chill any normal mortal's blood. He released his hold on Rudolf and took a few steps backward, shaking  with unconstrained mirth.

Rudolf turned and half-rose, looking on in confusion as his friend threw back his head and continued to laugh almost derisively.  
  
Noticing the young Habsburg's stare, Death suppressed his amusement, although he failed to keep his voice even when he spoke next.  
  
 "Oh my prince - ," he purred in a low voice, stepping closer once more and taking hold of Rudolf's chin as he leaned towards him.  
  
"- in my realm, there will be no hell for you -" Death slowly pushed him backwards until he collided with the altar.  
  
"- no heaven and no God -" Leaning forwards once more, Death bent Rudolf  backwards over the smooth marble of the altar, trapping the mortal underneath him. Lips spread into a terrifying grin, he lowered himself onto his prince until their lips were just inches apart.  
  
" - just me."  
  
Rudolf's heart battered desperately against his ribcage and his pupils dilated until he was staring up at his friend with eyes that were almost black. Death's closeness and the possessive, almost predatory look in his eyes had his fears receding and his self control fast slipping from his grasp.  
  
"What - What have I become?" he gasped out once more.  
  
Death grinned at him and trailed his fingers across Rudolf's cheek, letting the tips sink just millimetres underneath his skin. Rudolf moaned involuntarily and Death felt his own desire surge.  
  
"Mine!" he growled -  
  
and crushed his lips onto Rudolf's.  
  
The world tilted on its axis as both were swept away in a torrent of pleasure.  
  
During all their previous encounters, Death realized, he had gained pleasure from withholding, from refraining from taking Rudolf's soul and leading the young man into his realm. Now that he was unleashed, unhindered, he found himself caressing his beloved's soul during their kiss, even as his hands ripped apart the young Emperor's uniform jacket and clawed at his torso. How he could ever have lived without this was unfathomable...  
  
There were no more barriers, no more restraints and Rudolf was delirious with relief and pleasure. The divine feeling of floating in eternity, detached from all things mortal was all the sweeter for the lack of pain and the awareness that his body was still capable of feeling more carnal pleasures.  While Death ravaged his mouth, their teeth clashing, lips bruising and tongues intertwining, Rudolf's hands acted on their own accord, desperate for more contact, and tore at his lover's clothing. A deep-throated moan escaped his lips when the black fabric finally tore  and his fingers touched a perfectly formed, icy chest.  
  
As he found himself being pushed farther and farther towards the edge by Death's hands and lips, he almost feared the moment of release, feared that he would entirely lose himself in oblivion.  
  
Death moaned against his lips when Rudolf's fingers clawed into his back and he shifted so that his desperate arousal pushed against his lover's pelvis, begging for attention. Finally releasing his mouth, Death trailed kisses and bites down the young man's torso and Rudolf yelled in pleasure when Death's lips finally reached their destination. The accusing faces of the statues in the alcoves blurred as his world contracted into nothing but the feeling of Death's divine touch.  
  
If this was a taste of what expected him once he could follow his friend into the other realm, all the effigies in the chapel, all the saints and martyrs of Christendom, could stare on with as much disapproval as they liked - he was in the arms of his beloved, and they were beyond all judgement.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it took longer than expected to post this! Things have been kind of topsy turvy here with family emergencies and uni and extracurricular courses - but now I'm back and there are only two more chapters to go! I hope you're still with me on this. As always, let me know what you think! :)


	26. March 16th 2016, 8:30 am, University of Vienna

The lecture hall at the Institute of Austrian History was abuzz that morning with muttered conversations and barely-stifled yawns as the students settled in for their first lecture of the day. Winter still held Vienna in its clutches and most had cursed both the weather and their timetable that morning while hurrying to the reverend main building of the University of Vienna, which had been looking out over the Ringstraße for more than 150 years now.

The professor, a middle-aged woman in a tweed suit that had been fashionable in its time, arrived c.t. and began to set up the presentation she’d prepared for class with a minimum of muffled swearing as she wrestled with the university’s uncooperative technical equipment.

“Good morning, everyone!” she yelled eventually, trying to capture the attention of her barely-awake audience.

“If you remember, we left off with the reign of Emperor Franz Joseph I last week. He died unexpectedly on January 31st in 1889 of what modern historians assume to have been a stroke. He was succeeded by his only son, Rudolf. Emperor Rudolf III’s political views differed vastly from those of his father, as I am sure you have already heard in your parallel lecture on the history of politics. On his ascension, he set into motion a series of reform programmes that impacted heavily on all aspects of late 19th century life.

While these reforms eventually led to economic and political prosperity, there was a great deal of resistance initially. In fact, the Emperor was subject to what historians now suspect to have been assassination attempt mere months after the coronation. On September 28th 1889 a group of conspirators tried unsuccessfully to poison him during a state dinner at Schönbrunn. While Rudolf III himself survived, the coup did cost one member of the royal family their lives. The Emperor’s grandmother died of a heart attack that same night, seemingly while offering prayers of thanks for her grandson’s survival in the castle chapel – “

The anecdote drew a few tired chuckles from the assembled students, but most had already lapsed into a lecture-induced doze. It wasn’t as if they were unaware of the old Emperor’s achievements. His name was still very much omnipresent in modern-day Vienna, engraved on government buildings, printed on the currency, incorporated into the titles of charitable institutions. They had heard tales of the man’s political acumen, philanthropy, science-interests and weird eccentricities in primary school already, had seen pictures of his pale face, which never seemed to change with age, in almost all of their history books. (That last aspect had actually been quite entertaining and had them giggling and spinning tales of vampires and ghosts and pacts with the devil during their history classes in school.)

So, most of the students hung in their chairs that morning, hardly bothering to scribble down notes, while their professor droned on about the old Emperor’s achievements, his ultimately successful attempts to unite European politics, his establishment of a constitutional monarchy in Austria etc. etc. Most of them issued sighs of relief when she finally got to the end of the lecture, to how Rudolf III announced his only child, the later Empress Elisabeth I, as his successor just before his sudden, mysterious death in 1914.

As the students filed out of the lecture hall after class, heading up the grand staircase towards the library, out of the university towards the tram stops or across the Ring to the nearest coffee houses, none of the thought twice about what they had heard that morning. It was just ancient history after all – and not like it could have happened any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that was mean - but I have been looking forward to writing this chapter ever since I first came up with the idea for the story. :) One last chapter to go still - I hope you're bearing with me still. As always, let me know what you think and feed me lovely reviews! ;)


	27. June 28th 1914, 11:35 am, Hofburg, Vienna

They both felt it when their bond broke.

Rudolf was sitting behind the heavy mahogany desk in his study, proofreading a draft for a parliamentary proposal due to be submitted, when all of a sudden, a fierce, burning pain pierced his heart. Something seemed to unravel, to uncurl, to release him.

The pain only lasted a few heartbeats, but after it faded, Rudolf remained frozen in his heavy oak chair, clutching his chest, trying to calm his laboured breathing. Then comprehension dawned on him and his head snapped up.

He was free. Free to do as he pleased, go wherever he wanted.

Rising shakily from his chair, he slowly walked across the room to an ornamented chest of drawers. Sitting on top of it was a plain wooden box, which the Emperor opened carefully, almost reverently. His slender fingers closed around the hilt of an old silver dagger and a smile tugged at his lips.

Sliding the weapon into its familiar spot underneath his jacket, he rang a bell and ordered the valet who answered it to have his carriage brought around. The man bowed and quickly scurried away through a servant’s door concealed behind the heavy gold and crimson tapestries of the room. Rudolf had to suppress a chuckle at his haste – after all, there was no more hurry.

As he walked across the room towards the door, he passed a mirror and caught a glance of his own reflection and for the first time in twenty-five years he felt neither disgust nor bitterness at the sight of the youthful face staring back at him. It was ironic that this aspect of his unusual association with Death, the fact that it had seemingly frozen him in time, was what had disturbed his mother most deeply in the end. She had resented the fact that Rudolf, though pale and otherworldly, had seemingly attained eternal youth.

Now that he knew it would not be long, Rudolf allowed himself to be almost amused.

\---

A touch of melancholy settled on his soul as he passed through the corridors of the Hofburg. The bowing servants, the luxurious decorations of old masters, fine carpets, precious ornaments - all seemed remote to him. He felt no more hate for the golden cage in which he had been imprisoned all his life, which he had loathed throughout his childhood and adolescence. Soon, he would be free entirely.

Looking out through the windows of the palace, he could see modern Vienna bustling on the Ringstraße. Carriages and automobiles, electric tramways, people of all origins and classes mingling, businesses blooming. And the warm sun of early summer shining down on the city from a clear blue sky, leading people to flock into the Volksgarten, the park just across from the Hofburg on the other side of Hero's Square, to enjoy the perfume of the dozens of rose varieties planted there. So different than on that mercilessly cold, grey day at the end of January when he had fled the palace for what he had then thought to be a final time.

On his way down to the yard where the imperial carriage was waiting for him, he passed Erzsi’s apartments and paused for a moment. Reaching for the handle of the door, he pushed it open without a sound and peered into the room through the crack. A beautiful , healthy, young woman was sitting at her own desk, the summer sun streaking in through the open windows. She was surrounded by books on politics and science, confidently scribbling away on notes for a speech she was set to give the next day at the opening of the new campus. The enlargement of the university would make affordable education possible for more than a thousand new students - something Erzsi had pushed for for over a year - and the socially-minded princess had been more than happy when her father had put her in charge of the project. 

Rudolf felt his features melt into a rare genuine smile as he looked at his daughter. She would do well, be happy.

\---

He met Elisabeth when he was almost at the gates.

She was seemingly returning from another one of her prolonged cures at the baths in Baden, if the servants dragging heavy valises behind her were any indication. From the top of the staircase, he watched as she made her way into the palace.

Time had not been gentle to the former Empress, who was even now nearing the age of eighty. Her infamous beauty had long since wilted and while she had managed to retain some of her grace and poise, much of it was tainted with bitterness and resentment.

Rudolf stood at the top step and looked at the old woman before him, almost revelling in the aching pain and long-faded hopes that stirred in his heart at the sight of her – for he knew it would be the last time he would do so.

Elisabeth too halted and looked up at her son, hard lines around her mouth, her wrinkled hands clutching a slim ebony cane to keep her steady.

Nothing passed between them.

“Goodbye, mother,” Rudolf said eventually, breaking the silence. He sighed and lowered his gaze, quickly descending the stairs and brushing past the woman who had so disappointed him.

“Where are you going?” her brittle voice called after him, echoing in the stairwell.

“To Mayerling,” Rudolf replied without stopping, pushing open the heavy doors. “To him,” he added more quietly just before the gates of the Hofburg swung shut behind him, knowing that his mother, out of all people, would understand what that meant.

\---

The end had come. Death could see it as soon as he materialized in the shadows of the dark, oak panelled master bedroom of the Emperor’s hunting lodge.

With soft steps he approached the calm figure reclining on the bed. The Emperor was sitting quietly, an old, beautifully ornamented gun lying in his lap. Death let his eyes trail over the two long, thin cuts running in parallel along the left arm of the youthful-looking Habsburg – in the exact place of the wounds that had first united them. Rudolf’s shirt was stained crimson, his dagger on the pillow beside him.

Death gently placed a cold, heavy hand on the prince’s shoulder. Rudolf smiled fondly and looked up at him with tired eyes.

“Will you take me?” he asked, hope in his voice.

Death laughed softly at their recreation of the scene that had played out in this very room so long ago. He had felt the cosmic forces of time and fate shift, align and seal Rudolf’s destiny while floating in the shadows of his realm. A burning pain had soared throguh him when their bond had broken and he had only waited for his prince to call him. Now, they were _finally_ ready.

“Yes. Your time has come,” he answered in a low, soothing voice, raising his hand from Rudolf’s shoulder to softly caress his cheek. The Emperor leaned into the icy touch and smiled at his friend lovingly.

Satisfaction glowed brightly in Death’s chest as he gently cupped the Emperor’s cheek with one hand and guided his fingers to the gun with the other. A human lifetime was like a heartbeat to him, and yet he felt that he had waited for this too long.

The Emperor’s breath hitched as the cold barrel came to rest against his temple and Death leaned forward, sliding into his lap and pushing him back onto the bed. Rudolf let himself fall back submissively, sighing as he hit the soft sheets - the moment he had longed for was almost upon him. He was about to die and yet, he had no felt this alive in decades. Rudolf was aware of every drop of blood coursing through his veins - of every cell of the body in which he had been trapped for so long – as Death slowly lowered his familiar form onto him. _So close._

Their fingers intertwined and tightened around the trigger.

“Will you come with me, my prince?” Death murmured, the fingers of his free hand lightly tracing Rudolf’s bottom lip as he studied his face hungrily.

Rudolf almost laughed at the question – as if the answer weren’t perfectly obvious! _This_ was what he had desired for so long, waited for for so many years. And he was tired of waiting.

“I will, my friend,” he said and smiled mischievously up at his friend.

Death barely had time to raise a questioning eyebrow before Rudolf reached behind his head with the hand that was not holding the gun and pulled his surprised lover down in one fluid motion until their lips crushed against each other and mingled in an achingly familiar, breath-stoppingly passionate, final kiss.

\---

The echo of a single gunshot died in the corridors of Mayerling, leaving nothing but silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On June 28th 1914 the heir to the Austrian throne was assassinated in Sarajevo - so this date seemed like a fitting ending to the story.   
> I really hope you enjoyed it! Do let me know what you think and if you might be interested in a few one-shots with this pairing. ;)


End file.
